


Chain of Memories

by leighwrites



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, M/M, No Pennywise AU, Not Beta Read, To An Extent, once again he's not coming back, we die like men on this account
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/pseuds/leighwrites
Summary: After killing the clown that had tormented them for a year, seven kids were separated in various ways, only to meet up again in college where the longer they're around each other, the more they seem to remember, prompting them to try and line up the memories to understand the hazy childhood none of them seem to remember.[Requested from various people.]





	1. Stan

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tester chapter for a request a couple of friends made for my next story so enjoy if at all possible! You can come yell at me on tumblr @aizeninlefox if you want.

 

Stanley Uris stared at the sheet of paper in his hand and then up at the array of doors in front of him, furrowing his brow as he tried to find the door marked 108; his dorm room. His father, apparently, hadn’t had the time to do anything other than dropping him off at the college campus, leaving his son to do everything else alone.

Stan sighed, tightening his grip on the suitcase he’d been dragging along behind him before continuing on his way, attempting to find his dorm room while weaving in and out of the other freshmen who were equally as lost as he was.

100, 102, 103, 104…

He passed a group of people, a boy and his parents who were standing outside of one of the rooms, hugging their son tearfully who was stuttering about them embarrassing him as he tried to push his mother off him, his unknown roommate laughing from inside of their room.

105, 106, 107…

He weaved around another student and what was clearly his mother who was rubbing at his face with a cloth and fretting over him being away from home.

“Are you sure you have your inhaler on you? Maybe this is a bad idea. You should just attend a community college closer –”

“I’ll be _fine_ mom.”

108.

His room was directly across from the conversing duo, and not really wanting to rudely eavesdrop on their conversation, Stan hastily pushed the door to his room open and ducked inside, closing it behind him.

The room was fairly decent in size, with two beds, two desks, two closets, two bookcases, and what he was sure was a tiny bathroom that he’d be sharing with whatever roommate was going to be forced on him.

The bed closest to the bathroom already had a suitcase on it that was wide open, some of its contents tossed onto the bed; god awful shirts that ranged from Hawaiian print to just plain bright and neon ‘in your face’ colours.

Just what kind of roommate did he have?

As though hearing his question, the sound of a cupboard door closing in the bathroom rang out, and then his roommate stepped into the room; a boy with unruly hair, thick glasses, and a bright shirt hanging over a yellow t-shirt and faded grey jeans that prompted Stan to wonder if this boy had _any_ fashion sense at all.

“Uh, hi.” Stan said awkwardly, releasing his suitcase and dropping his duffle bag onto the empty bed. “I guess you’re my roommate?”

The boy grinned, crossing the space between the bathroom and Stan until he was standing right in front him. “Dats wight, wabbit; name’s Tozier, Richie Tozier, and voices are my game! And who might you be, darling roommate of mine?”

Stan coughed, awkwardly clearing his throat. He already disliked this person and it had been a grand total of five minutes. “I’m Stan.”

“Well Stan, it’s nice to meet you!” Richie said, thrusting his hand out towards him. When Stan didn’t move, Richie frowned. “This is the part where you take my hand, shake it, and say: gee Richie, nice ta’ meet ya’ too!”

Stan shook his head, smirking. “Jury’s still out on that one, Richie.”

“Oh you’re no fun Staniel.”

“ _Stan_.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I said. Staniel. Now you gonna be polite and shake my hand or leave a girl hangin’ Stan?”

Stan quickly grabbed Richie’s hand, and odd sense of familiarity washing over him. Richie apparently felt it too, his brow furrowing as he slowly dropped hand back to his side.

“Have we met somewhere before?” Richie asked, tilting his head to the side. “I feel like we’ve met before.”

“I think I’d remember someone as annoying as you.”

“You say that _now_ , but I have a way of growing on people, Staniel! So, where’d ya’ come from?”

“Vermont – and it’s _Stan._ ”

Richie waved him off. “Yeah? ‘m from Maryland myself. See, I’m growing on you already, Staniel! We’re quickly becoming friends!”

“ _Stan_.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Richie said, hooking his arm into Stan’s. “Now let’s go to orientation and meet the other fresh meat like us!”

“But my stuff –”

“You can unpack it later after you get all those nice books you’re going to be lugging around all year.”

Stan groaned, but he didn’t put up much of a fight as Richie dragged him from the room, pausing only to close the door behind them.

“Are you sure you want to go meet other people dressed like… well like a clothing rack _vomited_ on you?” Stan asked, wrenching his arm from Richie’s and walking beside him.

“Never heard of having some personal style, Staniel?” Richie asked, tucking his hands into his pockets as they walked; giving Stan a once over. “Then again… you’re dressed so prim and proper… you sure you’re in the right college, Stan my man?”

Stan snorted. “I’m sure.”

Richie exhaled heavily through his nose. “Well if you say so…”

The student union, which was a mixture of a games area, a store, and a café, was already packed with students when they arrived. Some of them were signing up to their classes and buying their books (which Stan had already done), while others were sitting in groups with friends from their High Schools.

“Don’t know anyone other than me huh?” Richie asked when Stan remained at his side, giving the room a once over.

He’d honestly expected his roommate to bolt the moment they entered the building and go off to find his friends.

“Some by face, but they weren’t friends.” Stan said.

“Huh, same.” Richie mused, grabbing Stan firmly by the arm and pulling him through the throng of students. “Guess that makes you my new best friend Staniel!”

“ _Stan_.”

“I like Staniel better.”

“You’re probably the only one who does.” A voice commented dryly, grabbing their attention.

Richie came to a stop and turned his attention to the one of the tables in the café area where a boy was sitting at a table alone, idly flicking through a book that was laid out on the table in front of him, his free hand resting over an inhaler as his fingers tapped against the plastic casing.

Stan instantly recognized him as the boy who now lived in the dorm across from his own and was being mothered to hell and back when he’d been looking for his dorm.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Richie asked, releasing Stan who rubbed at his arm.

“I just get the feeling that aside from being loud, you’re the kind of annoying person who gives dumbass names to people that they don’t like one bit while attempting to assert some kind of dominance as a class clown. We’re not in High School anymore; time to grow up.”

“Ouch.” Richie said, placing a hand mockingly to his chest right over his heart. “Your surely do hurt me kid. You got a name Staniel can engrave into my tombstone when those daggers you call words kill me?”

“Eddie, and if you call me anything but that I will shove this book so far up your ass that you vomit out paper for a month.”

Stan coughed to cover a laugh and Richie glared at him, missing the slight smile that had made its way to the boy’s face.

“Well, _Eddie_ , it’s just so _lovely_ to meet you.” Richie hissed.

“Shame. I don’t feel the same about you.” Eddie said, finally looking up from his book.

Richie froze. Aside from being the cutest damn thing that Richie had ever seen, it was just like when he’d shook Stan’s hand. There was a very powerful feeling of familiarity that washed over him, pulling him towards Eddie.

“Do I… know you? Did I offend you somewhere? Is that why you’re like this?” Richie asked.

Eddie arched a brow, pocketing his inhaler and closing his book which he gathered into his arms as he stood. “I’d remember meeting an insufferable jackass like you, believe me.”

“Hey, you literally _just_ met me!” Richie defended. “How can you think that about someone you’ve known for five minutes?”

“Five minutes was all I needed.” Eddie said as he stepped around Richie. “I’m sorry you have to put up with him Stan.”

“That makes two of us.” Stan called after Eddie as he vanished into the crowds of students; taking note on how the boy’s shoulders shook from laughter.

“The hell was _his_ problem?” Richie asked.

“I kind of like him.” Stan commented with a smile. “He’s… interesting.”

“He’s a brat is what he is.” Richie grumbled. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed though, you know?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t know, Richie, because I don’t think with my god damn dick like you apparently do.”

“Hey, I appreciate an attractive person, what can I say?”

Eddie Kaspbrak returned to his dorm room to find his roommate, Mike, having already returned, a paper bag on the bed with his textbooks inside while he was on the phone. Mike seemed nice enough; much better than Richie at least. Mike didn’t give anyone a dumbass nickname, and he was fairly quiet.

But Mike also came with a familiar and comforting aura that Eddie couldn’t place, and as much as he hated to admit it; Richie and Stan did too. Maybe comforting wasn’t the word for the two boys he’d met in the student union, but he _definitely_ felt like he’d seen them before.

But he’d remember that, right?

“Hey, mom, I’m gonna have to go, my roommate just got back – yeah – uh-huh – okay. I’ll call you at the end of the week and let you know. Yeah, I love you too, bye!” Mike said, blowing a kiss down the phone that made Eddie laugh before he snapped it shut. “Parents. I’m barely even settled in and already she’s asking if I’m okay or if I need to change dorms and stuff –”

“If you do, there’s a poor boy in the student union who would trade with you.” Eddie said, placing his book and inhaler neatly onto his desk.

“Oh yeah? He got an asshole roomie?”

“Something like that.” Eddie dropped to sit on his bed, his attention fixed on Mike. “He’s a loud as hell person who already gave him some dumbass nickname that he clearly doesn’t like.”

“I’ll pass.” Mike said with a chuckle. “You’re stuck with me, Kaspbrak; I’m so sorry.”

“I think I’ll live. Stan might not though if Richie keeps being the way he is.”

Mike hummed thoughtfully.

Why did those names sound so familiar?


	2. Eddie

On the first day of his classes, Eddie was surprised by two things.

The first was that he did _not_ get lost trying to find the lecture hall where his business studies class was to take place like he thought he would. The college was huge, and there were just so many damn staircases and rooms to remember.

The second thing that surprised him was that one of the boys he’d met in the student union two days ago was in the business studies class with him. Stan was sitting halfway towards the back of the theatre, a bored expression on his face with his head propped up by his hand.

Eddie sighed, tightening his grip on his backpack before he ascended the steps to the row where Stan was sitting; his fingers drumming idly against his notebook.

“I see your roommate didn’t kill you yet.” Eddie said, a smirk coming to his face.

Stan looked up, blinking a few times as though he was trying to place Eddie before he smiled. “Day’s not over, Eddie. Richie fucking woke me up at five this morning.”

“Sounds rough.” Eddie said, fidgeting on the step for a moment as Stan turned away from him. “Do you mind?”

“That he woke me up?” Stan asked, sounding pretty irate. “Of course I fucking mind that he woke me up. I was trying to _sleep_.”

Eddie snorted. “I meant: do you mind if I sit here?”

Stan looked at him again, brow furrowed as he allowed the question to sink into his tired brain. Just as Eddie was considering sitting somewhere else, Stan nodded and grabbed his notebook sluggishly, sliding across the bench to make more room for Eddie to sit next to him.

Eddie dropped into the seat next to him and took out the things he needed for the class, tucking his backpack under the bench.

“I’m sorry about the other day.” Eddie blurted out suddenly, startling Stan whose attention zeroed back in on him. “We didn’t get the best first meeting.”

“No I suppose we didn’t.” Stan mused, his attention now fully back on Eddie. “I remember you being quite the little spitfire.”

Eddie snorted at this before holding out his hand towards Stan, an action he rarely performed with other people. His mother had jammed it into his head over the last eighteen years that other _boys_ carried a ton of disgusting germs and would infect him with god only knew what, but Stan seemed like the kind of person who had some kind of an OCD for cleaning.

So there were no germs and he was fine, right?

“Hi, I’m Eddie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Stan chuckled and took the hand; shaking it quickly before retracting it again. “Stan. Call me Staniel and I’ll make you eat your notebook.”

Eddie laughed, releasing Stan’s hand. “Fair. So why did Richie wake you up at five this morning exactly?”

“I have a theory that he just wants to make my life hell as much as he possibly can.” Stan said, matter-of-factly. “He makes a lot of noise and I’m starting to think he has a vendetta against silence. He doesn’t stop talking, and when he does it’s because he’s asleep, but then the silence is short lived because he snores like a god damn chainsaw.”

Eddie leaned back on the bench, fingers rapping lightly against the edge of the desk. “Maybe you could gag him or something?”

Stan made a noise somewhere between a cough and laugh. “Somehow I get the feeling Richie would be into that so gagging him might be out of the question.”

Eddie grimaced. “Gross. I don’t need to know that.”

They fell silent as their professor entered the room and began their class before the door had even fully closed behind her.

Eddie idly made notes on everything she said, remaining completely silent much to Stan’s delight since he was running on very little sleep and one giant cup of coffee, and the odd sense of familiarity washed over Eddie again.

Only it wasn’t a lecture theatre in college.

_It was a classroom in a high school and Stan was one desk over to his right, head propped up by his hand as he tried desperately not to fall asleep in their math class, eyes drooping shut once in a while before they would snap open again._

_The teacher had such a monotone voice that even the boy to Eddie’s left was sleeping, a mass of dark hair covering his face which was pressed into his arms that were folded on the desk._

_“Tozier!” The teacher barked, causing the boy to jerk upright into a sitting position, a pair of thick glasses askew on his face._

_The boy was **Richie**? _

_Richie stretched lazily in his chair, long legs extending and knocking the back of the chair in front of him, causing the girl sitting there to turn around and glare at him._

_“Would it kill you to stay awake in my class for once, Tozier?” The teacher asked, turning his back on the class again as he went back to writing on the board._

_“No but that damn voice might.” Richie grumbled, tilting his head in Eddie’s direction. “Right Eds?”_

_“Shut up Trashmouth.” Stan hissed from Eddie’s other side._

Eddie shook his head quickly, looking back to the large board at the front of the room which was covered in various notes the teacher had been making while talking.

What the _fuck_?

Eddie clenched his jaw, trying his hardest to concentrate on the board in front of him, but the same damn room kept coming back to him; with Richie and Stan sitting either side of him. One loud and annoying and the other one constantly telling him to shut up.

Eddie gathered his things quickly once the professor dismissed them, rushing from the room before Stan had even managed to finish zipping up his backpack.

Why was he _daydreaming_ about Stan and _Richie_? He’d known them for a grand total of _one day_ if that.

He found Mike in the student union, bent over a pool table as he lined up his shot for the game while his opponent stood at the end of the table, pool cue leaning lazily against his body. Mike looked up at the breeze that suddenly made its way across the gaming area, a smile coming to his face.

“Hey Eddie!” He greeted, looking back down long enough to take his shot, the yellow ball hitting the edge of the table right next to the pocket before it rolled away. “How was your first class?”

“It was okay I guess.” Eddie said, joining Mike at the edge of the table. “I see you’re fast on the way to making friends.”

Mike hummed an agreement with a smile. “Yeah. This is Bill. He’s in the dorm next ours.”

Bill smiled, nervously, and offered Eddie a wave. “Huh-hi.”

Eddie returned the smile. “Hey.”

“So, tell me about your first class, Eddie.” Mike said as Bill circled the pool table, scanning the scattered balls with a precision that Eddie had never seen before. “Did you make any friends yet or are insisting on me being the only one?”

“I’m not sure.” Eddie huffed, dropping his backpack with Bill and Mike’s on the nearby chair. “I guess, kind of? I mean… Stan’s in my class.”

“Oh, so his roommate didn’t cause his untimely doom like you feared he might?” Mike asked, grinning.

Eddie snorted. “Nope. He’s still alive for now.”

Bill took his shot, the red ball rolling almost effortlessly into the pocket. “Stuh-Stan? Do you mean Staniel?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I see you’ve met Richie. Don’t let Stan hear you use that name.”

Bill bent back over the table, lining up his next shot. “Ruh-Richie is in thuh-thuh- the dorm across from yours.”

Mike nodded, drumming his fingers against the pool cue leaning against him. “He was coming out of the room as we were; dressed in some horrendous bright yellow jacket and a bright pink bandanna tied around his neck. I worry about that boy’s fashion sense.”

Eddie snorted. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t? You should have seen the ungodly clothes he was wearing when I met him.”

Bill shook his head, an amused smile on his face as he too his next shot, the ball missing its target and knocking a yellow one which lined up perfectly with one of the pockets. Mike looked down at his watch and groaned.

“I’m gonna have to go. My class starts soon.” Mike said, holding out the pool cue to Eddie. “Wanna take my place?”

“You don’t mind?” Eddie asked, glancing over to Bill.

“Nuh-not at all.” Bill said, a reassuring smile on his face.

Eddie took the pool cue from Mike who retrieved his bag, shouting a quick goodbye to Eddie and Bill before rushing from the building.

“Suh-so you’re Mike’s roommate huh?” Bill asked, not sure on what he was supposed to talk about.

Eddie nodded, leaning over the table. “Thank fuck, because if I had to be Richie’s roommate like Stan, I’d probably kill myself or him.”

Bill chuckled. “He duh-does seem a little…”

“Loud? Obnoxious? _Annoying_?” Eddie asked, taking the shot and pocketing one of the yellow balls. “Insufferable? A jerk?”

Bill chuckled again. “I wuh-was gonna say eccentric.”

After an hour of playing pool with Bill (something that had turned out to be an extremely pleasant experience and he understood why Mike had befriended him already), Eddie headed back to his dorm to take a quick nap before his next class which would run from three until four.

The door to the room across from Bill’s was wide open, allowing Eddie to see inside where there was a girl with long red hair braided down her back standing on a chair, hanging up a flag that was coloured pink, purple, and blue just above their joined desks while her roommate stood behind her, head tilted back as she tried to judge the levelness of the flag.

“It needs to go up a little more on the left.” Eddie said, standing in the doorway.

The girl on the chair jumped from his sudden voice, wobbling on the spot. Her roommate acted fast, grabbing her waist and steadying her before she could fall. Once she was stable, the redhead looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair almost whipping her roommate in the face in the process if not for her tilting her head back.

“Christ kid, don’t do that! You scared the hell out of me. I could have broken my neck or something!”

Eddie cringed. “Sorry.”

Her roommate barked a laugh. “Don’t take Beverly seriously. She’s in no danger as long as I am here to catch her.”

Beverly rolled her eyes and jumped from the chair to retrieve a hammer from one of the beds. “My hero.”

“Bite me Bev.” The girl snapped, turning her attention back to Eddie. “Hey! I’m Heather, and this my roommate, Beverly.”

Beverly waved her fist at Eddie in greeting as she effortlessly climbed back onto the chair, the hammer clasped in her hand making the action more threatening than it should have done.

“Eddie.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Eddie!” Heather said. “Welcome to the Bisexual Batcave!”

“We are _not_ naming it that.” Beverly called over her shoulder, prying the un-level nail from the wall with the hammer.

“You’re no fun Bev!”

Beverly tilted her head and stuck her tongue out at Heather. “Come in Eddie. I’m gonna need your eyes because I think Heather here is blind.”

Heather swatted at Beverly’s leg. “You’re mean. I can’t help it if you asked me to do something and didn’t give me chance to put my contacts in.”

Eddie stepped into the room, glancing back at the door over his shoulder. There were a few students passing by, but none of them seemed to notice the little haven that Beverly and Heather were building, or the fact that there was a boy in a girl’s dorm.

Because it was different in college, right?

“So I take it you’re both –”

“Bisexual badasses?” Beverly asked, spinning on the chair and catching the backrest with her free hand to keep herself up. “You bet we are, Eddie! What about you? Straight Shooter? Glorious Gay? Awesome Asexual?”

Eddie chuckled. “Do you just have a name for all of them?”

Beverly grinned, shouldering her hammer. “Damn right I do.”

“I guess I come under glorious gay, then. That nail needs to go up a bit more.” Eddie said, and Beverly moved the nail between her thumb and forefinger an inch upward. “There you go. Perfectly in line.”

“Thanks Eddie!” Beverly chirped, carefully hammering the nail into place.

“Hey! How are my bisexual bitches doing tod – damn Eds, what you doing in here? You know this is a girl’s room right? Are you trying to get some kinky threesome going on with these lovely ladies or something?”

“Listen here, Tozier, I am _not_ your bitch!” Beverly said, turning on the chair again and pointing the hammer dangerously at Richie who was leaning against the doorframe. “I will come over there and hit you with this.”

Heather snorted, crossing the room and punching Richie’s shoulder playfully. “Hey jackass.”

“Feather! My darling!” Richie threw his arms around her but Heather batted them away before he could fully enclose them around her and Richie huffed. “Why are you so mean to me, Feather? We’re _family._ ”

“Because you come up with insufferable nicknames for everyone you meet and you’re generally a loud and annoying person, _Richard._ ” Heather remarked, shoving him backwards from the doorframe. “Don’t you have someone else to go and bother?”

“Oh that’s right! I have a Staniel to bother!” Richie said, his face lighting up. “I’ll see you around at some point Feather. Red.” And then he winked at Eddie. “Eds.”

“I told you not to call me anything but Eddie!” Eddie snapped as Richie vanished.

Heather grimaced, her eyes still fixed on the doorway. “I see you’ve had a run-in with my dear cousin already.”

Eddie nodded. “I met him at orientation. He’s…”

“Annoying?” Heather deadpanned.

“Just a little bit.”

Heather shook her head with an amused smile, slinging her arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah, he’s annoying, but I’ll let you in on a little secret, Eddie. He means well, he really does, and if there is one thing that I’ve learned, it’s that when I’m in a bind I can always count on Richie to come and help me, and that’s not quality you find in many people these days.”

Eddie couldn’t shake off what Heather had said as he entered his dorm room and dropped onto his bed back first, closing his eyes.

**When I’m in a bind I can always count on Richie to come and help me.**

_The Aladdin movie theatre was dark and packed, but somehow the seven of them had managed to squeeze into seats on the upper balcony right at the front. Richie was sitting on his left, his long legs extended to rest on the ledge in front of them almost hanging over the other side of the thick wall just like Eddie’s were._

_The only difference was that Richie didn’t have to slouch in his chair to do this like Eddie did, and Eddie envied that._

_“Staniel, popcorn!” Richie said, holding his hands out to his left._

_Eddie heard someone shifting and then Richie suddenly had the bag of popcorn he, Richie, and Stan were sharing. A woman shushed the from behind and Richie snorted, taking a handful of the popcorn and tossing it into his mouth; some of it missing and hitting the people behind them._

_“Here Eds.” Richie said, shaking the bag at him._

_Eddie took a small handful of the popcorn from the bag and Richie leaned forward, placing the bag onto the ledge and retrieving his drink. Eddie shifted in his seat to get comfortable and cross his legs, his foot knocking the bag of popcorn and sending it toppling over the edge._

_“Shit.” Eddie hissed, scrambling to his feet with Richie to look at the lower half of the theatre._

_A group of boys looked up while brushing the popcorn off themselves and Eddie could feel his insides freeze up._

_Bowers and his friends were staring right up at them, squinting in the dark._

_Richie snagged the back of Eddie’s shirt and pulled him back as the movie illuminated the theatre long enough for Bowers to get a look at Richie, the screen reflecting off his glasses._

_Richie extended the hand in which he held his soda cup, balancing it in the palm of his hand before slowly tilting it forward and allowing the contents of the cup to spill out onto the group of bullies below them._

_“Jesus fucking Christ, Rich!” Stan hissed._

_Eddie grabbed Richie’s hand and dragged him from the theatre towards the fire exit. He could hear footsteps behind them, no doubt the rest of their friends trying to catch up for them. Eddie extended his hand, feeling the cool metal of the bar on the fire exit door against the palm his hand, slamming it down and shoving it forward; a flood of light coming into the theatre that made a group of people nearby turn to look at them._

Eddie jerked awake, sitting upright in his bed.

What the actual **fuck**?


	3. Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are probably a ton of errors in this but i'll fix them when i'm more awake!

 

_Bill Denbrough gripped at the dirty yellow raincoat in his hands, fingers twisting into the soft plastic as he stared down at the right sleeve which was torn and bloodied._

_He could feel his legs trembling, and he knew the others were right behind him, watching his every single move but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Did it matter if they saw him cry?_

_No. Not after everything they’d been through._

_His legs suddenly gave away from under him, his knees hitting the dirty floor of the cistern as sobs began to wrack his body. Footsteps sounded behind him, and an arm suddenly curled around his shoulders, a hand gripping at his right arm in an almost comforting way as someone sank to their knees beside him._

_In his peripheral vision he could see the arm that was around his shoulders, the dirty should-be-bright-white cast illuminated enough in the dim lighting for Bill to make out the word LOSER scrawled across it._

_Another person joined their huddle, a flash of a Hawaiian shirt catching Bill’s attention in the pool of water just in front of him._

_But there was no face._

_There were six other people standing around him; gripping and hugging as they tried their best to give him some form of comfort._

**_But he couldn’t make them out._**

_They were just blurry shapes in the water with no real defining features that would tell him who they were outside of their clothes or the cast._

_“Bill.” The boy with the broken arm spoke, his fingers digging into Bill’s arm. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”_

_Shakily, Bill nodded his head, and allowed the boy to help him to his feet._

_He dropped the raincoat to the ground._

_His parents didn’t need a reminder the painful truth._

Bill’s eyes snapped open, staring up at the dirty white ceiling of his dorm room. The previous occupant of his bed must have been a smoker judging by the yellowish stain, Bill grimacing with a hazy reminder of his younger self sitting on the railing of a bridge with three others with a cigarette hanging from his mouth; a Winston or something. He never could remember the name.

_“They taste good. Like a cigarette ought to.”_

_“Shut up R-”_

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Bill's attention was dragged from the ceiling, his eyes slowly making their way to the other bed where his roommate, a somewhat muscular boy by the name of Ben, was sitting hunched over in the middle of putting on his shoes, his backpack resting on the bed next to him.

“Fuh-fine.” Bill said, trying his best to give his roommate a reassuring smile.

Ben arched a brow, seeming unsure. “You uh… you sure? You seem a little… shook up.”

Bill grimaced, remembering the dream of blurry kids and a bloodied raincoat. “Duh-don’t worry about it Buh-Ben. I’m fine.”

“Alright.” Ben still seemed unsure, grabbing his backpack as he rose to his feet. “I’m here though, if you need to talk about anything.”

“Thuh-thanks.”

Ben nodded, leaving the dorm room to head for his first class. Bill sighed, his attention returning to the ceiling. Ben meant well. He knew that. But the hazy group in his dreams were the only ones he _really_ trusted; even if he _couldn’t_ remember who they were.

They were there while he was holding Georgie’s raincoat.

Georgie…

He’d spent so long trying to convince himself that Georgie had just _died_. Swept off in some heavy rain and wind into a storm drain.

But the truth was clear. The dreams reminded him.

Georgie had been murdered.

And there were six other people who knew that horrible painful truth.

Bill rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms, a tactic he often used to stop the flow of tears that he knew would come. He was supposed to be getting better. He was supposed to be moving on from the painful truth that haunted his dreams since he’d been accepted into Carnegie Mellon University.

Almost like his subconscious knew something that was going to happen; something big.

Bill shook his head. That was _stupid_. Maybe he needed to find a new therapist here in Pittsburgh. His old one back home had recommended one to him with a caution that moving away from home to a new city for college would be a stressful experience and could cause relapses.

Bill heaved a sigh, dragging himself from his bed and stumbling towards the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Richie was already in the art room when Bill arrived, surprising him considering Richie had been thirty minutes late the day before.

“Hey, Billiam!” Richie greeted with a grin and a dramatic wave, causing a couple of girls behind their shared desk to giggle.

Bill groaned and rolled his eyes, pulling out the chair across from Richie and tossing his bag under the desk. “Hey Ruh-Richie.”

“Sleep well in that shitty uncomfortable dorm bed?”

Bill snorted, tucking a hand under his chin and resting his elbow against the smooth wood of the desk. “Not really. It’s like sleeping on stone.”

Richie raised a brow in amusement. “Yeah? You got much experience with sleeping on stone?”

Bill smiled. “Ah-Adventurous teen year. Sluh-slept on a wuh-wall once when I was druh-drunk.”

“And no one thought it was a good idea to wake you?”

“No, buh-but they didn’t leave me either. Muh-my friend Chuh-Charlie stayed with me until I woke up.”

“Sounds like a good guy.”

“He wuh-was.”

Richie paid careful attention to Bill’s wording, furrowing his brow. “Was?”

Before Bill could answer him, their professor had walked in and their class started. Richie dropped the topic in favour of doing his work; a curious action to Bill considering he was usually making it his job to be heard around the campus.

Three days since orientation and half of the freshman year already knew the name Richie Tozier.

Bill gathered his things quickly at the end of the class once they were dismissed, making a beeline for the door and leaving a very confused Richie behind.

He didn’t want to talk about home.

He didn’t want to remember the people there.

That’s why he came here where none of them were.

Bill stepped into the library, letting the door swing to a close behind him. It was the one place that Richie wouldn’t be able to ask him personal questions since the librarian would no doubt shoo him out of the room with a broom.

When Bill entered the room where his philosophy class was to be held, he was surprised to see Eddie and Stan already in there sitting at the back; the highest point of the room. Eddie spotted him, grinned, and waved.

“Hey Bill! Get your ass up here!” Eddie called before he turned to say something to Stan.

Stan smiled at whatever Eddie was saying, shaking his head. Bill jogged up the steps towards the back of the lecture room, noting briefly that Eddie and Stan were the only ones on the back row before he took a seat next to Eddie.

“Huh-hey Eh-Eddie.”

Eddie turned back to Bill with a grin. “Hey. I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“It nuh-not like we tah-talked about our classes.” Bill pointed out, getting out his books for the class and sliding them onto the desk.

“Well, yeah, that’s true. All we really did was play – _oh no._ ”

Stan whipped around to face Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie groaned. “Richie.”

Before Stan could register the meaning of Eddie’s statement, Richie was sliding into the end of the row next to him, forcing him to slide closer to Eddie.

“Aw, Eds, you remembered my name!” Richie cooed, making the girl in front of them giggle.

“Shut the fuck up, Rich.” Stan groaned, rubbing at his temples. “You woke me up at five this morning _again_ so use your damn indoor voice.”

Richie grinned, lazily slinging an arm around Stan. “Looks like Staniel here needs a little nap guys! Come on, lie down and let Richie be your pillow! Just remember not to start nuzzling at my dic –”

“ _Beep, beep asshole._ ” Eddie hissed from Stan’s other side.

Richie fell silent, staring beyond Stan to where Eddie was sitting. “Beep, beep?”

“Yeah, you know, like a clown.” Eddie said, turning his attention to Richie. “Because for some reason even in college you insist on being an annoying class clown.”

Bill sat rigged in his seat, hands gripping at the edge of the desk.

_“How do you think Betty feels wandering around here with only one shoe?”_

_“Beep, beep you fucking jackass.”_

Bill shook his head, ridding himself of the hazy memory of Richie and Eddie’s voices that made absolutely no sense to him. At some point, their professor had entered the room and started the lecture, and Bill hastily flipped open his notebook to try and catch up with the work.

He couldn’t shake off the feeling that everything was so familiar to him; sitting in the back of a class with Eddie, Stan, and Richie while Richie bothered Stan and Eddie tried to work and Stan…

Stan eventually whipped up the notebook and smacked Richie over the head with it, the sound echoing through the lecture theatre.

“Ow what the fuck Staniel?” Richie demanded, rubbing at his head.

“You deserved it for being annoying!” Stan snapped.

“All I said was you needed to invest in a lamp so you could lighten the fuck u –”

Stan smacked him with the notebook again and Eddie collapsed into a fit of laughter.

It all felt so familiar and so… _nice_.

Eddie turned to Bill, bright smile on his face. “Don’t you agree, Bill?”

Bill nodded quickly, not sure what he was agreeing to. “Yuh-yeah.”

Richie huffed and crossed his arms, sitting back on the bench. “I feel so damn betrayed right now.”

Ben was already back at the dorm when Bill returned, reading over a book for his architecture class. Bill dropped his bag onto the floor next his bed before dropping down onto the uncomfortable mattress.

“Long day?” Ben asked, looking up from his text book.

“I have that Ruh-Richie kid in two of my classes and I didn’t sluh-sleep too good last nuh-night.”

Ben snorted. “Do you need me to leave so you can take a nap?”

Bill shook his head, nuzzling his face into his pillow. “You’re good. You’re always so quiet. It’s like rooming with a ninja. Wake me up in two hours so we can get dinner?”

Ben smiled, and Bill didn’t miss it. It was so fond, and he had the faint feeling that he’d seen that smile before.

“Sure thing Bill.”

As Bill started to fall to sleep, the last thing he recalled was a younger, chubbier, and blood covered Ben falling into water and startling a younger Stan and Eddie who were standing in the mouth of a large sewer pipe.


	4. Richie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this emotional chapter to the friendship that is Richie and Stan!

 

_“Eddie! Look at me!” Richie shouted, his hands moving to grab Eddie’s face and direct his attention away from the clown that was stumbling towards them._

**_Don’t touch the other boys Richie._ **

_Eddie moved the hand he’d been using to cradle his broken arm, reaching out and grasping at the front of Richie’s shirt. The pain in his arm was starting to become overwhelming, but holding onto Richie like this was like having an anchor to the world around him._

_He tried to keep his attention fixed on Richie’s face which was contorted with fear, and when he glanced away towards the clown, he could see why._

_The clown was closing the distance between them, claws shredding through it’s gloves as it’s face twisted and contorted; turning almost wolf like._

**_If you touch them they’ll know your secret._ **

_Richie tore his attention away from the clown and looked down at Eddie’s arm, the fear on his face fading into a grimace. “I have to put the arm back into the place.”_

**_And they’ll call you a monster._ **

_“Don’t fucking touch me!” Eddie shouted._

**_They’ll hate you._ **

_“One. Two –”_

_“RICHIE, DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME.”_

**_They’re gonna know your secretttt._ **

_“Three!”_

_Eddie screamed as Richie grabbed his arm and snapped it back into place the best he could._

Richie jolted awake, the overwhelming sense of nausea and fear wracking his body. He scrambled from his bed, tripping over a pair of shoes and bumping into his desk with a bang on his way to the bathroom.

Stan groaned tiredly, lifting his head from his pillow. “Christ Richie, don’t you know how to be fucking qui –”

Stan was suddenly cut off by the sound of their shared bathroom door slamming shut. Stan blinked the haze of sleep from his eyes, his vision settling onto the clock on his nightstand.

04:57AM

The sound of vomiting came from the bathroom and Stan stumbled to his feet, moving sluggishly to the door that separated him from Richie.

Richie’s hand shakily moved across the porcelain of the toilet until he found the lever, pushing it down to drown out static that was taking over his mind; the sound of flushing echoing through the bathroom.

With a deep shaky breath, Richie stepped back and bumped into the closed door with a dull thud before he slid down onto the tiled floor, drawing his knees towards his chest.

_“Wanna play loogie?”_

A scratchy, raspier version of Eddie’s voice dragged through Richie’s mind, making him flinch almost violently against the door.

“Richie?” Stan’s muffled voice sounded from the other side of the door, followed by the rattling of the handle as he tried to open it.

“G-go back to bed, Stan!” Richie snapped at the door, his arms wrapping around his legs and pushing his knees tightly against his chest.

**Breathe.**

**One.**

**Two.**

**Three.**

_“Eddie was nearly killed and look at this motherfucker! He’s leaking hamburger helper!”_

_“We can’t pretend it’s going to go away B –”_

“Richie!” Stan’s voice was firmer this time as he rattled the hand again in a desperate attempt to get into the bathroom. “Did you… _did you fucking lock door_?”

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound he could make was that of a broken sob.

**Breathe damn it. Pull yourself together Tozier.**

_“You’re a bunch of losers! Getting us all killed while trying to catch a clown!”_

_“Stop! This is what It wants! It wants to divide us. When we were all together, when we heard it… that’s why we’re still alive!”_

_“Yeah well I plan to keep it that way.”_

“Are you crying?” Stan asked, lowering himself to sit against the door.

Unlike Richie who was practically curled into himself, Stan sat with his legs stretched out in front of him; bare legs pressed into the plush carpet of their dorm room.

“N-no.” Richie lied, fingers digging into his skin; nails leaving small indents where he was gripping at himself, his breathing coming out in quick short breaths as he tried to calm himself long enough to stop the bout of tears. “I told you to go back to bed.”

He heard Stan sigh. “This is more important, Rich.”

Richie laughed, the sound shaky as though he didn’t believe the words that had come out of Stan’s mouth.

“Is it like this for you every morning?” Stan asked, his voice softer now. “Is this why you keep waking me up?”

Richie brought a hand to his face, using his clenched fist to scrub at his eyes and rid them of tears. “It’s stupid, I know. I’m eighteen years old and I’m having fucking _night terrors._ ”

Stan was quiet, and the only indication Richie had that he was still there was the sound of his elbow bumping into the door as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “It’s… it’s not stupid. I have them too.”

Richie’s grip loosened on his legs, taking in a quick breath to calm himself as relief crept into his body. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Stan admitted, his voice low. “Not as often as you but I have them… I vaguely remember that my dad used to have this painting in his office of a distorted woman playing a flute when I was younger. The dream’s always the same. It’s a dark room in a sewer and she’s standing over me; mouth wide open with rows of sharp teeth. And then she lunges, her mouth covering my face and there’s a horrifying bright light inside.”

_“You left me! You made me go into that house!”_

Richie flinched.

He could vaguely picture a disfigured woman leaning over a boy and attempting to eat his face. Someone shouted something, probably the boy’s name but it was lost in the ever growing static in Richie’s mind, and the woman tore herself away and looked at them with a feral snarl.

And the boy’s face was covered in blood, an array of puncture wounds covering the side of his face.

_“Deadlights. I looked into it’s deadlights. I saw –”_

“Hey, are you feeling any better?” Stan asked, rooting Richie back into reality.

Richie felt the static start to calm, fading into a faint buzzing in the back of his mind. “A little. I’m just tired now.”

Stan chuckled. “You gonna come back out?”

“Yeah.”

Richie stumbled to his feet and worked the lock with shaking hands and a blurred vision from a mix of tears and the lack of wearing his glasses. A blurry Stan was standing on the other side when he opened the door, a reassuring smile on his face.

Stan didn’t know what possessed him, but he was suddenly on Richie, his arms encircling him and pulling him into a hug.

Maybe it was the clear distress that his roommate was in.

Or maybe it was because he was seeing a completely different side to what he’d originally assumed was just a loud and obnoxious boy.

And Richie was clinging to him, his fingers digging into the back of the oversized shirt that Stan had been sleeping in; face buried into his roommate’s shoulder as he started to sob again. Stan sighed, bringing a hand to Richie’s head and running his fingers through his unruly hair.

**Don’t touch the other boys, Richie.**

Richie felt his grip tighten on the back of Stan’s shirt, his body shaking. Stan didn’t stop the soothing ministrations with his hair, pressing his hand firmly against the lower half of Richie’s back where it began to rub the area soothingly.

**They’ll call you a monster.**

“Hey, come on. You’re okay now.” Stan said. “It’s was just a dream.”

_Richie rushed out of the Neibolt house behind Bill and Stan who were supporting a bloodied Ben between them, sending glances over his shoulder once in a while, the image of the wolf-clown still clear in his mind. Its dark brown were filled with intelligence and awareness; never leaving Richie’s face as it closed the space between them._

_Golden stitching on the jacket stood out the most to Richie, and he could feel his throat constrict whenever he recalled the name on the bloodied left breast of the wolf’s jacket._

_RICHIE TOZIER._

**_Monster._ **

_“Quick, get my bike!” Mike shouted, adjusting his grip on Eddie who he was carrying in his arms as he hastily clambered down the rotting porch steps of the Neibolt House._

_Richie took in a deep breath to calm himself, crouching to grab the handlebars of Mike’s bicycle so he could pull it upright, moving to the side to hold it up as Mike carefully placed Eddie into the basket who was clutching his arm to his chest; gritting his teeth in pain._

_Richie had to admire how strong Eddie was; doing everything that he could not to show just how much pain he was in._

_He didn’t release the bicycle until Mike was sitting on it, reaching out to touch Eddie’s good arm carefully._

_“It’s gonna be okay.” Richie assured, squeezing Eddie’s arm before he rushed to his own bike and yanked it up; throwing his leg over it quickly._

_Before he rode away from the house, he saw the wolf again, and the golden stitched name that was mocking him._

**_They’re gonna know your secret._ **

Richie was sobbing again, hands twisting Stan’s shirt into his palms as he gripped the boy tightly.

“Hey, it’s okay Rich.” Stan said, fingers sinking into Richie’s hair and gripping slightly as he tried to keep Richie rooted to reality. “I’m here.”

_“You actually came?”_

_“You’re my best friend. I wasn’t gonna miss you becoming a man.”_

_“Thanks Richie.”_

_“Anytime S –”_

“Stan?” Richie asked, and Stan hummed to show that he was listening to him as he continued to try and soothe his distressed roommate. “Thanks for this.”

Stan smiled, patting at Richie’s back soothingly. “This doesn’t mean I’m okay with Staniel name.”

Richie laughed; the first genuine laugh since he’d woke up.

It bothered Stan. In the back of his mind, it was like… it was like Richie and serious weren’t a combination that should exist.

Richie was supposed to be happy and always joking.

Richie was supposed to do dumb voices that all sounded the same but made the people around him laugh.

Richie was eccentric and out there.

_Richie wasn’t supposed to be distressed and breaking down like this, clutching onto him like a lifeline._


	5. Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the end of this chapter. 
> 
> Please remember this whole fic is based off the concept of Kingdom Hearts Chain of Memories and this was gonna happen. (For those of you unfamiliar with the game I'll leave a note at the bottom).

 

Mike Hanlon had made exactly four friends in the first couple of weeks he’d attended Carnegie Mellon University.

The first had been his roommate, Eddie Kaspbrak, who Mike considered to be somewhat of a spitfire and a chaotic bundle of _awesome_. He’d clicked with Eddie within the first ten minutes of meeting him in a way that felt more like he was reuniting with an old friend from his childhood rather than making a new one.

It was strange and amazing at the same time.

The second friend was Bill Denbrough. He’d met Bill in the student union building while he’d been grabbing a coffee to help him wake up, almost bumping into the boy as he turned and spilling the hot beverage all over him. After some playful banter and joking insults, the two of them had hit it off, sealing their friendship over a game of pool.

Bill also happened to be in his literature class, giving Mike someone he actually _knew_ in there and a quickly growing friendship.

The third friend was Richie Tozier, a loudmouth who happened to be on friendly terms will Bill as they shared a couple of classes together. It had made Richie a constant presence in his life whenever he was avoiding his roommate; someone who apparently did not like to be disturbed while he was trying to do a paper.

This meant that Richie was kicked out of his dorm more often than not.

His fourth friend, Ben Hanscom, happened to not only be Bill’s roommate, but also in Mike’s creative writing class with him and Bill. Ben was smart with a very deep and poetic soul that fascinated Mike, and he seemed to give off a soothing and comforting aura that was all too familiar.

Not that Mike could figure out why that was.

Currently, Mike was spending his Saturday in the university’s library, looking for a book for his literature class that would help him with his essay on the _Dracula_ book they were studying. Mike loved books, and he’d always felt at ease around them, often helping out in the library back in Derry before he’d moved for college.

One day, he was determined to go back and take over the library to make sure it was preserved.

“So, just _why_ are you here exactly?” Eddie’s voice drifted from the end of the aisle where an array of tables were, drawing Mike’s attention from the books in front of him for a moment as he vaguely recalled Eddie mentioning something about needing to finish some of his business studies work over the weekend.

“Because Richie is _loud_ even when he’s studying for art of all things.” Another voice, which Mike figured to be the mysterious Stan who lived in right across from him but he’d never seen, drifted over next; somewhat frustrated. “I figured it was better for me to come here where it was quiet. What about you?”

Eddie groaned, and the sound of chair scraping rang out as he no doubt joined Stan at one of the tables. “Richie is loud even when he’s studying.”

Stan snorted. “Is he playing his music too loudly again? Usually I just throw a book at him and he turns it down.”

There was a laugh from Eddie. “I should try that next time. I’ll just storm into the room and throw something and leave.”

Stan chuckled.

Mike’s attention returned the shelf of books in front of him, scanning the titles with careful precision. It felt _wrong_ somehow to be listening to the conversation Eddie and Stan were having even if they _were_ just complaining about Richie but the library was just so damn quiet that he couldn’t help it.

“He wake you up at five again today?” Eddie asked, concern clear in his voice, and Mike could picture Eddie’s brow furrowing.

“Yep.” Stan sounded tired, and Mike wondered how he didn’t pick up on it sooner considering how thick his voice was with exhaustion.

“You running on coffee and spite right now?”

A chuckle. “Yeeep.”

“You know, you can always come pass out on my floor if you need to get away for a night for some real rest.” Eddie said, his tone taking a serious edge. “I’m sure my roommate won’t mind if I warn him before hand and explain why.”

“Thanks Eddie.”

Finally finding the yellow book of cliff-notes that he needed, Mike grabbed the book and made his way down the aisle. Emerging from the end, he could see Eddie sitting at one of the circular tables across from Stan who had his back to him.

“Hey Eddie.” Mike greeted, heading over to the table.

Eddie looked up and then grinned. “Hey Mike. I see you’re spending your Saturday cooped up like the rest of us.”

Mike chuckled. “I don’t really have that much of a choice. Report on Dracula due Monday. Mind if I join you?”

Eddie shook his head and motioned to one of the empty chairs. “Pull up a chair and join the hell of essays like the rest of us. Oh this is Stan by the way; Richie’s roommate. Stan, this is _my_ roommate; Mike.”

Stan’s movements were almost sluggish as he looked up to greet Mike with a smile and a nod before promptly returning to his work which was a mass of lazy scribbles that Mike was sure even Stan himself didn’t really understand.

Out of all the people that had stricken an odd familiar feeling in him, none of them had come close to the one that Stan sparked. There was an underlying feeling of guilt and regret that seized at Mike’s insides, making his stomach curl and tighten before it faded into:

Fear.

Worry.

**Concern.**

_Richie, Eddie and Bill had vanished into the darkness of the Neibolt House around ten minutes ago leaving Beverly, Ben, Mike, and Stan outside to keep watch; but what they were actually watching for they didn’t know. If the house was indeed where the clown lived, it wasn’t going to just come outside for them when it had three victims that had willingly walked into its nest._

_Stan was standing furthest away from the old house, practically at the gate of the property with his arms wrapped around himself, staring up at the looming desolate house in front of them._

_“Hey.” Mike approached Stan, concern clear on his face as he took in his friend’s tense posture. “Are you okay Stan?”_

_Stan tilted his head towards him, and the floodgate had opened as he started to break down. “I can’t… I can’t go into that house Mike.”_

_Mike curled an arm around his shoulder, drawing Stan into his chest as he cried._

_He didn’t need to ask why he couldn’t go in. He wasn’t the kind of person who pried. If Stan wanted him to know, Stan would tell him himself. So for now, he just held the distressed boy in his arms while Stan gripped at the sides of his dirty and grass stained white shirt._

_Ahead of them, Ben had placed a comforting hand onto Beverly’s shoulder and she raised her arm to grip at his hand, offering each other a silent comfort._

_“I just… I can’t.” Stan buried his face into Mike’s shoulder, tears dampening his shirt. “Please… don’t… don’t let me go in there…”_

_Mike had never heard him sound so broken over the course of the summer since they’d met._

_And he’d never imagined it would make him **feel** broken._

“Right Mike?”

Mike was dragged back into the reality of the library around him at the sound of Eddie’s voice and his attention shifted to the boy who had been trying to talk to him. “What? Sorry, I’m just really –”

“Tired?” Eddie teased, grinning widely at Mike. “I get it, Mike. These first couple of weeks have been a nightmare. I said that it was okay for Stan to crash on our floor since Richie keeps waking him up at five in the morning. Is that okay with you?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah, that’s okay. I have that camp bed he can use. It’s comfier than the floor.”

Stan chewed at the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to abandon Richie. He _couldn’t_ abandon Richie. There was just something that kept dragging him to the boy. Like they were _supposed_ to be there for each other.

But he also couldn’t tell Eddie and Mike the reason Richie woke him up at five _every_ morning.

“Thanks for the offer but…” Stan raised his hand and ruffled at his own hair in a sleepy haze. “Wouldn’t be right, you know? I’d be taking up so much space and the dorms are tiny. I’ll just…” He paused, biting at the inside of his cheek again. “I’ll get some earplugs or something.”

“How about this.” Eddie placed his pencil down onto his notebook, rubbing at his temples to ward off an oncoming headache from staring at his text book for too long. “If it gets too much… you can… I’ll trade dorms with you for a weekend or something. Then you can sleep for a full night and when Richie wakes me up I’ll suffocate him with his own horrendous shirts.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take you up on that offer if I start falling to sleep randomly in a class or something.” Stan said, glancing down at the watch on his arm which Mike noticed was far too pristine and taken care of, before gathering his things. “I gotta head back now though. I promised I’d call home today so my parents know I survived another week.”

Eddie snorted, raising his hand in a wave. “I hear that. My ma’s like that _every day_. Good luck Stan. I hope you get some sleep tonight.”

“By the way, Eddie.” Stan stood, neatly tucking the chair back under the table as he balanced his books against his chest; pinned into place by his other arm. “You should see a doctor about those headaches from looking at books too long. You might need glasses.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie grumbled, moving his hand to the bridge of his nose to pinch at the area. “I just… I don’t like doctors.”

Mike shook his head as Stan left, his eyes following the boy’s movements until the library door closed behind him. “You know… he’s not what I pictured with the way you and Richie talked about him.”

“He’s not usually like that.” Eddie supplied returning to his work. “He’s just really tired right now since he’s always up at ungodly hours.”

“Poor kid. He’s right though, you know. You need to see a doctor.” Mike said, leaning towards him. “You’re literally squinting at the textbook right now so you can read it.”

_Eddie was practically folded into the basket of Mike’s bicycle with his legs hanging out of the side, Mike clenching his jaw as he willed himself to stay strong and keep the bike up with the added weight._

_He needed to get Eddie as far away from that house as possible._

_To get Eddie to safety._

_To get Eddie home._

_“Almost there.” Mike panted, taking a sharp turn as he followed Bill’s bike. “Just hold on Eddie.”_

_Beverly teetered to his side in her struggle to ride Eddie’s bike back home for him, glancing worriedly to Mike and Eddie. Richie rode on Mike’s other side, one hand poised on the handlebar to keep himself steady but he was otherwise only using his legs to steer, one arm extended towards Mike; hand gripping at Eddie’s._

_“You’re gonna be okay.” Richie assured him, wincing as Eddie’s hand gripped at his own a little too tightly._

_“Rich –” Eddie hissed as Mike hit a pothole, tightening his grip even more on Richie’s hand. “Shit – fuck – hurts –”_

_“I know Eds.” Richie removed his other hand from the handlebars to adjust his glasses. “It’s okay. Let it out. You don’t have to be strong **all** the time.”_

_“My mom’s gonna freak – I don’t wanna go to the hospital again! I hate it – I hate the doctors – don’t let –”_

_Eddie was suddenly cut off by a shriek as his mother came rushing out of the house with Bill and Stan.  Their bikes were already discarded on the grass haphazardly in their haste to get help. Mike slowed to a stop and Bill rushed over to help extract him from the basket, only for Mrs Kaspbrak to smack his hand away._

_“No! Don’t you touch him!”_

“I can go with you if you want.” Mike offered with a smile.

Eddie looked up at him, returning the smile with one of his own. “Thanks Mike. That’d… that’d help a lot actually. I hate seeing a doctor.”

_“You. You all did this. You know how delicate he is. You’re all monsters and Eddie is done with you.”_

Mike flinched at the voice that echoed in his head, and for a moment, he pictured a younger Eddie who was sitting in the front of a car, cradling a broken arm against his chest while clenching his teeth to bite back the pain; eyes pleading for them to not let his mother take him to the hospital.

“Mike? Are you okay?”

Mike stared at Eddie for a moment in silence. “I – I’m tired. I think I’m gonna head back and do this report later.”

A look of concern crossed Eddie’s face, but he didn’t push it, only nodding. “Okay. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Do you want me to wake you up then?”

“Yeah, thanks Eddie.” Mike gathered his things and stood, almost toppling his chair over in the process.

Passing one of the smaller tables of the library that could only one person at it, Mike was momentarily drawn to the girl sitting there with various papers scattered around her, her hand moving almost effortlessly across a sheet of paper as she hummed to the tune of whatever was playing on her walk-man.

The scattered pages were drawings, he realised. She was an art student like Bill and Richie.

What drew Mike’s attention the most, however, was the quick sketch of the clown on a page closest to the edge of the table with almost spider like legs where its arms should be.

Mike felt his arm tighten around the books tucked under it and he ran from the library, and the hazy memory of a clown crouched in a sewer cistern with its arm wrapped tightly around Bill’s throat.

A clown that was sitting in a patch of overgrown grass, face covered in blood as it waved a dismembered arm at him mockingly while an unknown person was shoving his face down into a pile of raw meat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! For the people who are unfamiliar with the concept I based this off, I'm going to explain this to you so there's no confusion. Kingdom Hearts Chain of Memories revolved around losing your memories as you travelled further into a castle (mostly because someone was tampering with them).
> 
> This same someone is the one who drew out (yes drew) the memories into sketchbooks which made it easier to rebuild them at the end of the game. This newly introduced character is based off that person and she's going to appear a lot more in the story.
> 
> You can also call her to the embodiment of everyone who DIDN'T want them to grow up and forget each other!


	6. Beverly

 

_Richie plonked himself down onto the bench next to Beverly Marsh, a grin forming on his face as he leaned back and crossed his legs over each other. “You going to the movies later with the rest of us?”_

_“I don’t have any money.” Beverly said, tucking her hands into her pockets now that she’d finished eating her ice cream, enjoying the soft sun that hung in the sky. “Hey, can I see your yo-yo? Do you have it on you?”_

_Richie dug a hand into his pocket and retrieved the item, tossing it towards her, mildly surprised when she caught it with ease. “I outta take it back really. It’s supposed to sleep but it doesn’t. I got ripped off.”_

_Beverly smiled and poked her finger through the loop as Richie adjusted his glasses to see what she was doing better. Beverly turned her hand over, palm facing the sky with the yo-yo tucked neatly into her cupped hand before she rolled it off her index finger._

_The yo-yo slid down her finger and to the end of its string where it fell asleep until she twitched her finger, promptly waking it up again to climb the string back into her palm._

_“Well fuck. Look at that.” Richie said._

_Beverly’s smile turned into a grin. “That’s kid’s stuff. Watch this.” She snapped the yo-yo down again and let it sleep for a moment before walking the dog with it in a series of snap jerks._

_“Oh stop it.” Richie huffed, leaning back on the bench. “I hate –”_

_Beverly’s world suddenly jerked violently and turned red._

_And then there was blood._

_So much blood._

_The bathroom was coated in blood so thick it could have been paint, and Beverly was huddled against the wall, her arms wrapped around her legs._

_Why couldn’t her father see it?_

_Why couldn’t her mother see it?_

**_Why did no one see the blood that was right there in front of them?_ **

_How had her father managed to walk across the bathroom and touch her cheek without noticing the thick red liquid that was covering his hand?_

Beverly took in a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, chest heaving with each gasping breath that she took. Her expression was panicked, and rightly so after all the blood she had seen in her daydream but… why had she also been dreaming about a younger Richie of all people as though they’d known each other?

A sharp pain shot through her temple and Beverly hissed, bringing her hand up to rub at the aching area. The memories of her childhood were hazy at best; even those of her family. Beverly had often asked her mother why they’d moved – never remembering where they’d moved _from_ – and her mother had always grimaced and replied with the same thing.

_Because I can’t live in the place where your father was murdered._

A soft knock on the bathroom door caught her attention and Beverly glanced back over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay in there?” Heather called, her voice muffled through the door. “You shout up off your bed so fast and you were kinda zoned –”

“I’m fine. Just _really_ had to pee, you know?” Beverly lied in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

There was a laugh from the other side of the door. “Christ Bev’ you had me worried! Don’t do that!”

_“I worry about you, Bevvie. I worry a lot.”_

Beverly took in a quick sharp breath, exhaling slowly through her nose to calm herself down.

_“Can you show me how to make it sleep?”_

_“I – I guess. I don’t know. I’ve never tried to show anyone.”_

Beverly shook her head, reached over, and pushed the lever down on the toilet before counting slowly to ten and re-emerging into her dorm room. Heather was back on her bed, her psychology work spread out all over the covers. She looked up for a moment and smiled before returning to her work silently.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” Beverly said, her voice small and timid as if she were talking to a parent rather than a roommate.

Heather furrowed her brow and looked up from her work again. “It’s okay? I mean… no harm no foul right? It just scared me a little when you suddenly took off.”

Beverly was suddenly back to her usual bright self. Heather’s smile was always comforting to Beverly. It was kind of sisterly in a way. Beverly loved that smile. It made her feel like she was okay even when she knew otherwise.

It made her feel safe.

Beverly dropped onto her bed next to the fashion work she’d been attempting to do before she’d dozed off, glancing over to the bathroom. For a moment she could picture six other people crowded in there, scrubbing away the thick red stains that covered every inch of the room, one with an inhaler poking out of their mouth while ringing a bloodied rag into a bucket.

“You sure you’re okay?” Heather asked, watching Beverly carefully. “You zoned out there again for a moment.”

Beverly shook her head with a smile. “I think I’m just starting to feel a little cooped up in here.”

Heather nodded in understanding, dropping her pen down onto her notebook. “Wanna go for a walk? The fresh air between here and the Student Union will do you some good. We can get a coffee while we’re there. I know we have a lot of work but… hey we can take it with us! Lots of people do it there.”

Beverly nodded eagerly. She hadn’t really been able to go there since orientation with the work pile up, so she gathered her books and shoved them into a worn backpack and waited at the door like an excited puppy as Heather closed her books and gathered them into her arms before the two of them headed out the room.

“Hey, you and Richie grew up together, right?” Beverly asked, lazily hooking her hand around the strap of her bag.

“Well.” Heather adjusted the books in her arms, closing the door behind them. “Since he was about thirteen or fourteen, yeah.”

“So you didn’t always live in the same town?”

“No. One day Aunt Maggie and Uncle Went just moved into town.”

“So do you know where he lived before then? Or why they moved?”

Heather furrowed her brow. “I think Aunt Maggie mentioned something about some murders and missing kids where they used to live. She didn’t want to raise Richie in a place like that but… I don’t remember the name of the town they lived in. Dairy or something? Shit, I forget. Why all the questions anyway?”

“I’m just curious.”

“If you want to get to know my cousin, Bev’, you should just talk to him. You know how he just loves to talk and talk…”

The Student Union was bustling with activity when they entered, most people sitting in groups at tables to do their work. Beverly looked around, spotting two boys sitting at a table big enough for five or six people and she grabbed at Heather’s arm to steer her over.

Beverly tapped a perfectly manicured finger against the table top when they were close enough to get their attention. “Hey, do you boys mind if we sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

One of the boys looked up at her, a smile on his face. “Guh-go ahead.”

Beverly stared at the boy, a dull ache throbbing in the back of her head.

_“Hanging out with us makes you a loser too.”_

_“Hey, just so you know… I never felt like I was a loser when I was with any of you.”_

Beverly shook the voices from her head, removing the backpack form her shoulder and tossing it onto the table. “Thanks! I’m Beverly, but you can call me Bev’ and I’m a bisexual badass. This is my sidekick; Heather.”

“Buh-Bill.” Bill smiled again and then waved to the other boy at his table. “This is Buh-Ben.”

Ben looked up from his work and gave Beverly a wave. Beverly felt her breath catch in her throat as she slowly lowered herself into a chair.

_“January embers…”_

_“My heart burns their too.”_

“Bev?” Heather snapped her fingers in front of Beverly’s face. “If you keep zoning out like this I’m really gonna start to worry.”

“S-sorry!” Beverly said quickly, taking out her work from her backpack. “I think I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“Well maybe you should –”

A sudden shout cut off whatever Heather was about to say, their small group looking over to where the pool table was.

“Hey that’s not fair! You totally cheated!” Richie was brandishing the pool cue at his opponent, Eddie, who was in the middle of sharing a high-five with Stan while Mike stood just behind Richie, shaking his head in disappointment.

“How?” Eddie demanded, handing the cue to Stan and rounding on Richie. “Tell me how I _cheated_ at pool! You _can’t_ cheat at pool!”

“Oh yes you can! I don’t know how you cheated but you did!”

Mike groaned. “Did you ever consider that maybe Eddie is just good at the game like Stan is? We kind of set ourselves up for this loss.”

Stan leaned back against the window behind him, the cue resting idly against his body. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because he wouldn’t stop pestering me to play!” Eddie snapped, pointing at Richie. “And if you think for one second I was going to be alone with this piece of sh–”

“Now, now Eds, mind that language of yours or I might have to clean out that mouth.” Richie said, tutting with a grin.

“Give me that cue Stan!”

Stan arched a brow. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to fucking beat him with it!”

“Sorry Eddie, can’t let you do that.”

Beverly shook her head, a giggle bubbling from her throat. There was just something so _right_ about the four of them hanging out like that. But there was still something missing.

There needed…

_“I’m telling you guys, there has to be seven of us. Lucky seven!”_

_“Lucky Losers more like.”_

_“Yeah, luh-lucky we’re not duh-dead.”_

_“Maybe that’s why we’re alive… because there’s seven of us.”_

**There needed to be seven of them.**


	7. Ben

 

_“Hey, let me copy.” Henry Bowers whispered to Ben Hanscom, his dark eyes demanding as he leaned across the aisle of their math class towards his desk._

_Ben shook his head and curled his arm around his exam paper._

_“I’ll get you, fat-boy.” Henry hissed, a little louder this time. “You let me copy or I’ll get you bad.”_

_The boy who sat directly in front Henry turned in his seat slowly. “Hey senior, you wanna keep it down back there? Some of us are trying to pass math.”_

_Henry’s attention moved to the boy, the two of them entering a silent stare down before Henry spoke again. “Mind your own business, bucky-beaver.”_

_“Is someone talking back there?” The teacher asked, her stern voice cutting across the classroom like a knife. “Tozier, turn around this instant! Bowers, get to work!”_

_The room was quiet again for the next ten minutes with only the sound of scribbling from pens._

_Henry suddenly leaned over the aisle again, voice low. “You’re dead, fat-boy.”_

Ben’s eyes snapped open, staring at the yellowish ceiling above him as he attempted to control his breathing. Ever since he’d started college, he’d been having the same dreams of a boy he didn’t know.

Dreams so realistic that they could just have easily been memories. You couldn’t dream up a person you’d never seen. Ben knew that much. He had to have seen those boys before, but it was hard to place two unknown people in a childhood so thick with fog that it was damn near impossible to penetrate.

Ben rolled onto his side, finding Bill still asleep soundly in his bed across the room. Their shared clock on the wall read 07:00AM. Too early to be up when your first class wasn’t until eleven. Ben heaved a sigh, closing his eyes and rolling to face his wall in an attempt to go back to sleep.

_“Do you like this place so well you’re gonna stand here all day?” Beverly asked._

_“N-no.” Ben croaked, mentally slapping himself for not being able to do something as simple as talking to Beverly. “I guess not.”_

_Beverly smiled. “Well, good, cause school’s out for summer. You’re the new kid, right?”_

_“Ben.”_

_“Well Ben, I’m Beverly. Don’t worry, Henry’s out front.”_

_“O-oh. Have – have a good summer, Beverly.”_

_“You too, Ben. See you next year. By the way – there are worst things to be called!”_

Despite his best efforts, Ben hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, and instead he found himself in the student union with Bill who was meeting some of the people from his Philosophy class to have breakfast before class. Bill introduced him to Richie, Eddie, and a very tired Stan who was downing coffee, and Ben had a feeling this wasn’t his first one of the morning.

“Here.” Eddie pushed a plate with a bagel on it towards Bill with a coffee. “Got you one too Ben. Bill texted us to say you were coming.”

There was something oddly _nice_ about hanging out with Bill’s friends, even if they were just friends from a class. It was almost like he’d done it before a long time ago. As the group around him talked, Ben could feel himself zoning out, as though something was pulling him out of reality and into the fog that he could never get through.

It felt almost like he was drowning and then –

_“You ever **built** a damn before?” Eddie asked, his tone respectful and almost awed at Ben’s words._

_“Nope.” Ben said._

_“Then hu-hu-how do you know this’ll wuh-work?” Bill asked._

_Ben looked over to Bill now, puzzled. “Sure it will. Why wouldn’t it?”_

_“But huh-how do you nuh-nuh-know?” Bill asked, and Ben recognized the tone as interest rather than mocking. “Huh-how can you yuh-you tell?”_

_“I just **know**.”_

_“Oh-okay.” Bill said, clapping Ben on the back. “Suh-see you tuh-tuh-morrow.”_

_“What time?”_

_“M-me and Eh-Eddie’ll be here by eh-eh-eight thuh-thirty or so –”_

“Huh-hey, you okay Buh-Ben?” Bill asked, placing a comforting hand on Ben’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah I just –” Ben stifled a yawn with his hand. “I didn’t sleep too good last night. Still tired.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Stan grumbled, now cradling his head in his hand while downing more coffee.

It was just now that Ben noticed Stan alone had five Styrofoam cups in front of him, the empty ones neatly stacked into a pyramid. How the hell could one person drink so much damn coffee in a single sitting?

“Lack of sleep sounds like a common theme here.” Eddie said, dropping his now empty cup onto the table. Stan grabbed it and added it to his pyramid. “Me, Mike, you, Bill, Richie, Stan…”

Richie yawned, leaning back in his chair. “That’s just college life for you, Eddie. There’s tons of work, little time to do it in, and even less time to fucking sleep.”

Ben nodded absently, sipping at his own coffee, but his mind was reeling. No. It was more than just college. None of the other students around them looked so exhausted that they would fall over at any second. None of them looked like zombies. They didn’t look like they were constantly having some kind of an internal battle about something.

“Can we just skip class for today?” Stan groaned, dropping his head to the table.

“ _Stanley Uris,_ did I just hear _you_ ask to _skip a class_? Mr gets-up-two-hours-early-to-make-sure-he-has-everything-he-needs-packed-neatly-into-his-bag?” Richie asked, disbelief crossing his face as he stared at his roommate.

“First of all, that ‘neat’ thing is called OCD and I can’t help it. Second of all, fuck you. Thirdly, _I’m fucking exhausted, Rich._ ”

“We’re _all_ exhausted.” Eddie pointed out. “If my brain could give me a break and let me sleep through one night without – you know what never mind. We gotta go. We don’t want to be late. Well, maybe Stan does.”

Stan extended his middle finger towards Eddie as the group stood somewhat sluggishly and grabbed their bags except for Ben, Stan downing the rest of his coffee before dropping the empty cup onto the table and stumbling his way out of the student union with the rest of them.

Ben shook his head in mild amusement at their actions, uttering a soft sigh as propped his head up with his hand. The other students around him were talking happily amongst themselves, some of them even excited considering it wasn’t even ten yet.

Yeah. It definitely wasn’t anything to do with college work being too much. Ben snatched up his drink and stood, heading back to his dorm with the intent to take a power nap before his class.

Until he bumped into someone and sent a small stack of papers falling from their arms.

“Shit – I’m sorry.” Ben said, crouching quickly to gather up the pages and hand them back to the girl.

“It’s okay.” The girl said, haphazardly shoving the pages into her notebook. “Oh, you’re Ben, right? Bill’s roommate?”

Ben looked up, meeting the warm and soft gaze of Beverly before he smiled. “Yeah and you’re Beverly.”

“That I am.” Beverly said, taking the pages that Ben held out to her and tucking them into the notebook with the rest.

_Your hair is winter fire, January embers. My heart burns there too._

Ben shook his head, ridding the strange unknown poem from his mind as they both slowly stood upright.

“I hope I didn’t uh… hurt you.” Ben said, somewhat sheepishly. He was aware that while he was no longer ‘fat-boy’, that he was still built bigger than most people; more muscular. His mother had once mentioned how it was like hugging a bear these days.

“No, I’m okay.” Beverly assured with a kind smile. “You’re not with Bill?”

“He has class right now. Philosophy or something.”

“Oh?” Beverly was still smiling, and the words from the poem came back to his mind. “And what about you, Ben? What do you do?”

“Architecture mostly.”

“That sounds fun.”

Ben nodded. “It can be. What about you?”

Beverly beamed. “Fashion.”

“I bet you design some nice rainbow cloths.”

A giggle burst from Beverly’s chest, and she shook her head. “You noticed that huh?”

“You kinda painted your door and its right across from mine.”

“Yeah.”

“I like it.”

Beverly’s smile was back. “Me too. Brings some colour into the dorms, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. The R.A might make you paint over it though.”

Beverly grinned. “The R.A doesn’t care, but you didn’t hear it from me. Okay Ben, I have to go to class now. Thanks for helping me pick up my stuff. Maybe you can show me your work sometime.”

Ben nodded, a smile of his own coming to his face. “You have to show me yours too.”

Beverly nodded, and the two of them parted ways to their destinations.

As Ben closed the door to his dorm room, he could get rid of the smile on his face.

_Ben surged forward, pressing his mouth to Beverly’s before taking a step back. The white fog that had been over her eyes lifted, and the dazzling blue that complimented her auburn hair perfectly was back._

_“January embers…” She breathed._

_Ben smiled. “My heart burns there too.”_

_Beverly threw her arms around Ben and hugged him tight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think we're going back to Stan next chapter, guess again!
> 
> Next up: Why everyone moved away!


	8. ? ? ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things before you start! This chapter is not up to my usual standard because it was pretty hard for me to try and do the concept justice.
> 
> This chapter is PURELY designed to show (or try to) the method behind the restoration of the memories and who is doing it / how they're doing it along with brief little explanations on why everyone moved away from Derry along with why Stan doesn't remember as much as the others right now.
> 
> [not proof read since I was too tired but I'll try to go over it when I'm more awake and remove errors]

Kimberly Maxwell hummed quietly to herself, looking around at the scattered drawings all over her apartment living room. For a whole month she had been sifting through and tried to reconnect the pictures with one another; a slow and daunting process that was only supposed to be done when the receiver was sleeping.

But rules were made to be broken.

She found herself reconstructing the memories more and more as the days went by whether the receivers were asleep or not, constantly drawing them out onto pages and then positioning the pages where they needed to be.

She looked down at the page in her hand and smiled, stepping over some of the scattered pages and pinning the one in her hand up into one of the three rows that made up the incomplete memories of Beverly Marsh.

It was a drawing of a younger Beverly in a car, crossing the Derry town line with a post card clutched to her chest. Elfrida Marsh had no wanted to live in the town after the death of her husband, and had set up the means to move in with her sister until she could get a steady job and get back on her feet.

It was the first crack that caused the divide of the lucky seven.

Dropping onto her knees, Kimberly sifted through scraps of papers with various drawings, smiling in triumph as she found the next one she needed. It was a picture of Bill Denbrough standing behind a car that was packed with some of his family’s things, looking down at a diagonal scar on the palm of his hand.

His parents hadn’t been able to handle being in the town or the house where the memories of Georgie were the strongest, and Bill had left Derry one week into the first term of school.

Kimberly pinned the picture up just under the one of Beverly crossing the town line.

The next one was a picture of Ben Hanscom. Sweet, love struck Ben, who looked more than sorrowful to be leaving the town where he’d made his first real friends; but his mother just couldn’t stay in a town where children were being murdered.

Kimberly pinned it just under Bill’s before moving to the next one.

The next one portrayed an oddly compliant Eddie Kaspbrak, taking a pill that did god only knew what as he was climbing into a car parked behind a moving truck.

Sonia Kaspbrak had somehow managed to weasel her way back into Eddie’s mind claiming that Greta Keene didn’t know what she was talking about before giving the girl’s father and earful and setting up the move to a place with a more reliable doctor who would do everything she wanted.

This picture ended up pinned under Ben’s.

Richie’s picture came next, a scene that brought a sad smile to Kimberly’s face. He was hugging Stan tightly, a rented van parked just off to the side where his mother was leaning out of the window. Wentworth Tozier had been transferred to a city where he could get more patients and a higher pay, accepting it almost instantly.

The city was a better place to raise his son anyway; far away from a place where kids went missing and their bodies turned up a year later.

Kimberly pinned up the picture and finally hunted out Stan’s picture, pinning it to the wall with the others where it belonged.

The picture showed Stan towards the end of winter, standing just out of sight of his parents as he said his tearful goodbye to Mike; clasping his friend’s hands tightly in his own.

Looking around the scattered drawings the floor of her living room, Kimberly nudged some aside until she found a closed sketchbook with the name _Stanley Uris_ scrawled on the front. Approaching the pinned pictures, she opened the sketchbook and removed the pencil from inside the spiral holding, placing it to the page.

But there was nothing.

Nothing ever came to her in regards of Stan’s memories.

Nothing _physical_ anyway.

It was always the same. It was disembodies voices and no actual memories.

_Not every plant –_

_Stan! –_

_I can’t go into –_

_At the Ba –_

_Give –_

**_Stan –_ **

_You’re not concen –_

_No next time –_

Kimberly closed her eyes, supporting the sketchbook against one arm and resting her pencil against the page. It was so hard whenever it came to rebuilding Stan’s memories. It was easier for the others. Though repressed, the memories were there buried in a fog, and it was easier to draw them out.

But with Stan it was like there was a road block; a shield that had been put up to prevent her from reaching into the place right at the core of the consciousness and pulling them out.

And she knew why.

She knew that whatever Stan had seen in the Deadlights back in the sewer had caused this. It had scared him enough to put up a mental block even before the memories had started to fade from their minds.

But they _all_ had to remember. It couldn’t just be _six_. All _seven_ had to remember for this to work; for the bond to be restored between them and for the weird spell that Pennywise was capable of to lift. They _deserved_ to remember what they’d done for the good of Derry, for each other, and for the universe.

They deserved to remain friends.

But Stan was just so closed off, making it almost impossible to do her task. The one thing her brother had asked.

**Make them whole.**

Kimberly opened her eyes and lowered herself to sit on the floor, putting her level with the timeline as Stan remembered it. There was only one way she could ensure this would work. But first she needed –

She reached out for two of the pictures, one, a dirty clown crawling out of a wall with photographs projected onto it, and the second, an abandoned and worn down house; Neibolt house. She knew he’d been in before the other’s had figured out the house belonged the clown. There was something there.

Something that could help her dig up _all_ of Stan’s memories the way she could the others. She pinned the pictures into Stan’s line of memories, reaching out for her sketchbook and pencil once again.

**They are strongest together, no matter what.**

Her eyes closed once more and her hand returned to the sketchbook now positioned in her lap. She could feel it now. There was a slight jerk in the back of her mind like an invisible hook had grabbed her before a tugging sensation took over and her hand began to move wildly across the page.

The finished product of her trance had been a drawing of a laundromat with Stan, Beverly, and Eddie, but before she was able to tear the page from the book and pin it with the others, another memory crashed over her like a tidal wave and tore the page from the book and tossed it to one side before setting to work.

She could pin them up later.

_Not every plant is poison ivy, Stanley._

_Stan! Kill it!_

_I can’t go into that house Mike_

_At the Bar Mitvah I read from the Torah._

_Give it back!_

_You’re not concentrating Stanley._

_No! No Next time Bill!_

_That’s not saying much._

_Mike I –_

_It’s summer! We’re supposed to be having fun! This isn’t fun! It’s scary and disgusting!_

_Beep, beep Richie!_

_Do what you always do! Start talking!_

_Adulthood, according to the holy scripture of Derry, is learning not to give a shit._

_Thanks for coming._

Kimberly’s eyes snapped open as the tugging sensation finally faded from her mind. The memories that she’d managed to pull weren’t enough… but they were a start. Slowly, she raised a hand to her face, wiping away a patch of blood from the corner of her mouth.


	9. Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry that this took so long to do. I know you've been waiting for it since what happened in the last one, so hopefully I've provided you with something good!

 

Stan was finding it increasingly more difficult to focus in his classes as the days dragged by. Between not sleeping all that much, and suddenly having very detailed night terrors whenever he did, Stan was now up to drinking way more coffee than could be considered a _normal_ amount.

But it didn’t help.

The lack of sleep now had him zoning out in classes instead of working, an array of different memories constantly plaguing his mind.

**_Click._ **

_The projector flipped through a series of pictures with no one in them; moving faster and faster through cycle of church front stills. They’d been doing that since Mike had kicked the projector over when the strange image of a clown had appeared instead of Bill’s mother; sending them all into a panic._

**_Click._ **

_It was the same picture of the church but there was still nothing else there._

_“What’s going on?”_

**_Click._ **

_Nothing. The reel had ended and it was now just a blank white rectangle of light projecting onto the wall._

**_Click._ **

_“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”_

“Stan!”

Stan jerked in his seat at the sudden hiss of his name and the hand that had grabbed his arm, breathing heavily. Glancing to his left, he discovered that Richie was the one who had grabbed his arm, and for the first time in his life Stan was thankful that he was sitting at the back of the class and almost in the corner where no one other than Richie and Eddie could see the panic that was on his face, or see the way his body heaved with each struggled breath.

He saw Eddie shifting on his right from the corner of his eye, extending his hand to Stan with his inhaler in it. “Here.”

Stan shakily took the inhaler from him, uncapping it and placing the nozzle into his mouth before pushing down on the canister once Eddie had counted him back down from three. Stan took in a deep breath, his body still shaking in its effort to calm down, the constant clicking noise still present in his head, along with…

_Calliope music?_

The last time he’d heard that was…

_Camptown ladies Sing dis song,_

_Doodah, doodah._

_Camptown Racetrack nine miles long,_

_Doodah doodah._

_Ride around all night_

_Ride around all day_

“I have to go.” Stan hissed, handing the inhaler back to Eddie quickly as panic setting in.

Eddie’s eyes widened a fraction at Stan’s words. “What? You can’t just leave. Stan we’re in the middle of a –”

“ _I have to._ ”

Stan closed his books quickly and gathered them up into his arms, bending to grab his backpack, and then he was scrambling over Richie without even so much giving him chance to _try_ and move to let him out. He jogged down the steps towards the front of the class, slinging the backpack over his shoulder and tucking his books under one arm as he did.

“Mr Uris, where do you think you’re going?” The philosophy professor called as Stan rushed by her desk.

Stan didn’t answer, jerking the door open and closing it quickly behind him with a bang that echoed through the lecture hall. Eddie and Richie exchanged a glance, the same confused look slowly coming to their faces.

“What the –”

“– fuck was that?”

_There were shadows bobbing on the wall above Stan and the terror leapt down his throat. He’d only seen them for a moment, but that was all he needed to know there were two of them; slumped and unnatural. He’d only had that moment because the light inside the Standpipe was fading far too fast and the moment he turned, the door swung shut behind him._

Stan rushed across the campus to the dorm building, throwing the door open and making his way quickly to the elevator, startling a student as he rushed in when the door opened. The boy scurried out of the elevator quickly, looking back at Stan over his shoulder a couple of times as he made his way to the double glass doors.

Stan hastily pressed the button for the seventh floor, and the moment the doors opened he was rushing off down the hall. He could vaguely hear the laughter from the dorm room that belonged to Heather and Beverly, the two of them giggling about something that Heather was showing her on her phone.

He was brought back to reality as he walked headfirst into his door.

_He hit the door with his hands splayed out in front of him, hard enough to send sparks of pain up his arms to his elbows. The door moved enough for him to see a strip of grey light filtering into the building; mocking him as though there were a person on the other side holding the door shut._

Stan patted at his pockets, panting from his rush back to the dorm as he tried to locate his dorm key. Where was it? Where was it? Where the hell – _right_. He only had the one class today, and it was with Richie. He hadn’t felt the need to take his key with him since Richie had one and now he was locked out of his room.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Stan hissed, hitting the door with one hand.

_A sudden rush of water spilled down the stairs, and with it came the smell of wet decay and death._

_“Who’s here?”_

_“The dead ones, Stanley. We’re the dead ones. We sank, but now we float, and you’ll float too.” A low bubbling voice answered him; seeming choked with mud._

_The water had started to wash around his feet and Stan cringed back against the door. The shadows were closer to him now. He could **feel** them and he could **smell** them. Something dug against his hip as he shoved his side into the door in an attempt to open it._

_“We’re dead, but sometimes we clown around a little, Stanley. Sometimes we –”_

“Stan?”

Stan, who was resting his forehead against his door in defeat, slowly raised it and turned to the voice. Mike was standing in the door way of his own dorm, a look of concern on his face as he looked the trembling Stan over.

“Are you –” Mike stopped himself, shaking his head. _Are you okay_ was such a stupid question to ask him right now. “Did you lock yourself out?”

“I didn’t take my key because I have _one_ class all day and it’s with Richie but… I wasn’t feeling too good so I left class and now…” Stan gestured at the door. “Yeah, now I can’t get in there.”

“You don’t _look_ too good either.” Mike said, brow furrowing. Stan looked pale, far paler than usual, and there were dark rings prominent around his eyes. “Stan… don’t take this the wrong way but… when did you last get some real sleep? You look like death.”

Stan sighed, the sound heavy as he leaned back against his door, dropping his books onto the ground as he slid down the smooth wood. “I don’t know.”

_It was his bird book that had been digging into his hip, and without thinking, he’d grabbed for it. As he tried to pull it from his pocket, one of the shadows had already reached the foot of the steps; shuffling across the little stone areaway where he’d come in towards him. It would reach him soon and then he would feel its cold flesh._

_He gave one more yank, and the bird book slipped out of the pocket._

_He didn’t know what possessed him to hold it out like a shield, but it just felt **right**._

“Do you… wanna come in?” Mike asked, crouching in front of Stan with one hand pressed to his knee. “You can take a nap if you want. I’m just doing some work so it’s really quiet.”

Stan opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that seemed to come out was a sob. Mike reached over and gathered Stan’s books into his arm, wrapping his hand around the other boy’s wrist and slowly pulling him to his feet.

“Come on.” Mike soothed, leading Stan into his dorm.

Mike placed the books onto his nightstand and then gathered up the text books from his bed to move them over to the desk. Stan could hear him moving, but his attention was so _not in reality_ that he didn’t _see_ Mike’s movements, or even register that Mike was guiding him to lie down on the bed.

“There you go. Take a nap. You need it.” Mike said, grabbing the comforter and pulling it over him.

_He wasn’t cringing anymore. He was standing up straight in the darkness, shouting off the name of every bird he knew, and though it **seemed** stupid to be doing it, it was **working**. The shadow had backed away from him and the door suddenly opened, causing Stan to topple out from the Standpipe._

Mike snapped a hand over his phone as it buzzed, lifting the device from his desk and flipping it open to look at the text that he’d received.

**From: Eddie [11:30AM]:**

**I don’t know. He freaked out in class and just left.**

Mike glanced back over his shoulder at Stan who was barely conscious, teetering on the edge of sleep. Mike wasn’t about to disturb him to ask why he was so panicked and freaked out. He looked back down at his phone, fingers moving quickly across the keypad before hitting send.

**To: Eddie [11:35AM]:**

**I got him into our dorm. He’s sleeping now.**

**From: Richie [11:37AM]:**

**Take care of Staniel for me! I’ll come get him for lunch about 1!**

**To: Richie [11:40AM]:**

**You got it.**

Mike set an alarm on his phone and then snapped it shut before putting it back on the desk next to his open textbook. Stan had fallen to sleep while he’d been texting, his breathing much calmer now, but Mike couldn’t help but wonder just _what_ had set him off enough to walk out of a class. From what he heard from Eddie and Richie that _wasn’t_ a Stan thing to do.

Stan woke at twelve-forty, confusion settling in. This wasn’t his bed and this wasn’t his room. Bolting up, he spotted Mike across the room at his desk, writing away in his notebook and he suddenly remembered why he was _here_ and not in his own room where he _should_ have been.

“Sleep well?” Mike asked, setting his pen down and twisting in his seat to look at Stan.

“Uh – yeah. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to pass out.”

Mike chuckled, an almost fond look on his face. “You needed it. Are you feeling better?”

_A fourteen year old Stanley Uris had cried himself to sleep; the memories of the woman and the bright lights still plaguing his mind. Mike had taken it in stride when their sleepover had turned to something more intense emotionally, and he was currently curled around Stan, holding him against his chest as he soothed him with one hand running through his hair._

_Stan stirred, his now puffy eyes opening. “Shit, sorry.” His voice was hoarse from sleep and crying, slowly detaching himself from Mike._

_“You needed it. Are you feeling better?”_

**Stan nodded slowly. “I’m –”**

“– much better now. Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“It’s fine Stan.”

“Hey Mike, can I… talk to you about something?” Stan asked, his words careful. Mike smiled and nodded, waiting patiently for Stan to continue. “I – lately it’s like… every time I sleep I’m –”

“STANIEL.” Richie’s voice rang out moments before the door burst open and Richie strode in, jumping to sit next to him and wrap his arm around his shoulders. “You look nice and refreshed!”

Eddie entered the room a couple of seconds later, tossing his books onto his bed. “Hey Stan, feeling better?”

Stan nodded. “A lot better. I just needed to get some sleep.”

“Yeah you haven’t been doing that much lately and you’ve been loading yourself on coffee.” Richie mused, giving Stan’s shoulders a squeeze. “It’s not good for you Staniel, and sometimes I wonder how you’re functioning.”

_“You actually came?” Stan asked, shifting on the bench as Richie sat down. It was weird to see him dressed in something other than his usual ‘hideousware’ as Eddie had called it._

_“You’re my best friend. I wasn’t gonna miss you becoming a man.” Richie said, throwing his arm around Stan._

_Stan smiled, leaning into the affection; a rare act which Richie brushed it off as the stress from the day. “Thanks Richie.”_

_“Anytime Staniel!” Richie squeezed his shoulder and let out a low whistle. “That was some speech though. I’m **very** proud of you.”_

_Stan couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, shaking his head against Richie’s shoulder. “My dad’s gonna freak.”_

_“Just tell him you were stressed from preparing for the day.” Richie’s fingers tapped idly against his arm. “You regret it?”_

_Stan shook his head. “I meant what I said. They **don’t** give shit. I should get back. Will you…”_

_Richie bounced to his feet, holding his hand out to Stan. “Wherever you go, I’m gonna go, cause we’re the dynamic duo, Staniel!”_

_“Ohmygod.”_

“Okay, let’s go and get you some food.” Richie said, hopping off the bed and holding out his hand to Stan.

Stan took the offered hand and allowed Richie to pull him from the bed. “Thanks again Mike.”

“No problem Stan.” Mike said, his smile completely comforting as his gaze met the other boy’s. “You can come and crash here any time you need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just give you the complete version of a memory from a previous chapter? You bet I did!


	10. Eddie

 

Eddie dropped his books onto the library table with a thud, his circular glasses case rolling onto the smooth wooden surface with a soft clatter.

Richie’s hand snapped out automatically, slamming down onto the hard case gently before they could roll off the edge of the table, though his eyes remained on his work even as he slid the case back towards the pile of books carefully before retracting his hand back to his own section of the table.

“Damn, where’d you get reflexes like _that_?” Stan asked, pausing in taking his notes and turning a page in his philosophy textbook.

“High school.” Richie said, glancing up from his work. “You kind of develop them when you’re a target because you got a loud mouth, you’re a nerd, and don’t know how to be still or look awkward for most of your life.”

“Kinda like becoming a target because you’re Jewish.” Stan said, looking back down at his work instantly.

Bill nodded, twiddling his pen between his fingers. “Ouh-or cuh-cause you stutter.”

“Or because you’re small.” Eddie muttered, picking up his glasses case and opening it carefully to take out the pair of thin framed lenses which he slipped onto his face. “People always think you’re weak when you’re small.”

“We’re a fine group of people.” Stan said, his hand moving deftly over his notebook as he made notes on his work. “Group of Losers.”

Richie chuckled. “Yeah, but can we at least call it a club and get some jackets? That’d be cooler. We’d be like…”

“Thuh-the luh-losers club.”

Eddie laughed.

Somehow, the name just felt so _right_.

“I see you finally took my advice and went to see a doctor.” Stan said looking over at Eddie with a smile. “Let me guess, no more headaches?”

“None since I got these.” Eddie confirmed, pointing the end of his pen at his glasses. “I hate them though. Today I just need them for reading, and in a year because I can’t see for shit. And I just look so – so – ugh.”

“I think they’re cute.” Richie said, chewing on the end of his pen as he stared at Eddie; almost like he was _studying_ him. “Like cute times three. _Super_ cute. Cute –”

_“Cute, cute, cute.” Richie said, pinching at Eddie’s cheek._

_“Ugh, can you stop that? I hate that.” Eddie said, slapping the hand away from his face._

_“No can do, Eddie my love!”_

“You’re only saying that to get on my good side because you know I still think you’re an insufferable jerk.” Eddie said, though there was a slight joking tone to his voice.

“Oh honey, oh Eddie, my darling sweet, sweet boy.” Richie cooed, a smirk plastered on his face. “When are you going to admit that you _actually_ like me? Even Stan likes me now, ain’t that right Staniel?”

Stan didn’t look up from his notes, raising the hand he wasn’t writing with into the air and extending his middle finger toward Richie. Eddie snorted at that. Richie might have grown on Eddie over the first month and a half of their college life, but Eddie wasn’t going to admit that to _him_ any time soon.

Richie would be even _more_ insufferable then.

“Just you watch, Eddie my love, I’ll win you over.” Richie said, nodding to himself.

“Right.” Eddie opened his textbook to get to work. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m nothing if not persistent. Just ask your mom.”

“Beep, beep idiot.” Stan muttered.

Richie opened his mouth to respond, closing it again. Bill and Eddie started laughing. They hadn’t expected that to _work_. And yet… it was another thing that just felt so right. Richie was suddenly laughing, and the sound was so contagious that four of them ended up in a fit of laughter they tried to keep quiet so they didn’t get kicked out of the library.

“Holy fuck that was _weird_.” Richie said, his laughs starting to subside. “It was like –”

“– like we’d heard it before.” Eddie finished. “Like everything we do.”

“Yeah, it’s weird…” Stan mused, tapping his pencil against his notebook. “It’s like… we’ve met before or something and… you know what never mind it’s stupid.”

“No, no Staniel.” Richie said, holding up his hand, extending his index finger to Stan in a point. “I want you to finish that damn thought.”

Stan sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he gathered his thoughts. “Since I came here… it feels like… I knew you before from somewhere. I keep getting this weird sense of familiarity… and the dreams…”

“Dreams?” Eddie repeated, nervously looking over to Stan.

“Yeah, well they feel more like –”

“– memories?” Richie asked, a smile on his face. It wasn’t mocking. It was soft and oddly comforting. “I’ve been having them too.”

“Suh-same here.” Bill said, placing his pen down. “It’s wuh-weird. Muh-makes me kind of uneasy. Buh-but it’s also nice to know I’m not the only one, you know? I don’t…”

“You don’t feel like you have to go through it alone when there’s more of you.” Eddie shook his head. “There has to be a reason we’re having these, right? It’s like… our brains are trying to tell us something.”

“No shit.” Richie slumped back in his chair. “Okay so. We all feel familiar to each other –”

“– can you reword that?” Stan asked.

“– and – shut up Staniel – now we’re having these weird dreams… like I had one where Eds here broke his arm but that can’t be because I didn’t _meet_ Eds until orientation when he was a little shit to me.”

Eddie groaned, tilting his head back. “I had one about us being a theatre watching some monster movie. I’ve never watched a monster movie in my life. I’ve never… I didn’t really _do_ friends. I just always kept to myself. So I don’t know why –”

 _You know why._ A voice nagged at the back of Eddie’s mind. _You know that it was always supposed to be just **you guys**._

Eddie felt his breathing hitch dangerously. Richie was up and at his side in an instant, snapping his fingers in front of Eddie’s face with an expression of worry on his face. His mouth moved but Eddie couldn’t make out a single word that Richie was saying over the static that was rapidly building in his mind.

_There were seven of them._

_They were standing in a circle, palms bleeding and holding hands. Richie squeezed at his hand and something about it just felt **right**. Like this was supposed to be how it was. Him. Richie. Holding hands. Surrounded by the happy smiling faces of –_

_“Hello Eddie.”_

_The scene around him had suddenly faded. There were no other kids around him, just a dark sewer room filled with junk and scattered drawings. Eddie looked down at the drawing closest to him, bending to pick it up. It was a drawing of seven kids standing in a circle; the exact thing he’d **just** seen._

_Something shifted and Eddie dropped the drawing, his attention settling on Kimberly who was standing in the scattered mass of papers._

_“Who –”_

_“My name is Kimberly.” Kimberly stepped over some of the pages until she was standing directly in front of Eddie. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”_

_“ **Me**? Why me?”_

_“Because you’re one of the lucky seven.” Kimberly grinned up at him, reaching out and grabbing his hands. “Back before you moved, do you remember that town? The one where you grew up?”_

_“No. Anytime I asked my mom she said it didn’t matter. She said there was nothing there for me anymore.”_

_Kimberly nodded, releasing his hands. “She was always so overbearing.” She turned her back on Eddie and crouched to pick up a drawing which she held out to him. “Do you remember this thing?”_

_Eddie took the sheet of paper, staring down at the drawing of a clown, claws protruding from its gloves. Not **his** gloves. _

_Its gloves…_

_It…_

_“Pennywise.” Eddie said, dropping the sheet of paper. “Pennywise the Dancing Clown.”_

_Kimberly nodded. “Good. You remember, but you don’t remember that summer do you? Some bad things happened, and when they were over… the memories of the events faded because that’s how it works and… that’s why I exist. As all of you forgot… I was created. I’m a vessel in which the memories of those events are stored. As you all remember, I fade from existence. I can’t exist as long as you remember.”_

_“Why would you…”_

_“Because I’m not **supposed** to exist. I’m you. All of you. I shouldn’t be real. As the fog of Pennywise’s power settled in and made you forget, Maturin pulled those memories together and wove them into me. Maturin created me just before he died, and he asked me to restore the memories but… its power is strong. I have a limited window of time. It’s not dead yet. Not fully. A small tiny part of it is in here.” Kimberly pressed a hand to her chest. “And it destroys me from the inside. I just want to sleep. I’ve been like this for four years… stopping its hibernation and keeping it weak. Let me sleep, Eddie. If I fade, it goes with me and it will never come back.”_

_“Is that why you brought me here?”_

_“Yes.” Kimberly shot forward suddenly, grabbing at the tops of Eddie’s arms in a grip that he was sure only Bill could have ever managed. “You have to go back. You have to go back to that town, and you have to go back to that house. All of you. I’ll keep rebuilding the memories but I’m running out of time! You need to go back to that house. It’ll help you get the memories back faster than I can draw them out and align them.”_

_“What house? What town?”_

_“Derry. You have to go back to Derry.”_

_“Why? Why do we have to remember this? If this… Pennywise was so bad… why can’t we just forget about it?”_

_Kimberly smiled. It was oddly soft and comforting. It was kind of like the smiles that Mike gave them when they were younger. She took his hand and pulled him over the scattered drawings towards an old carnival cart and pointed to the wall. Eddie approached the wall, staring at the single picture that was pinned there._

_A picture of a younger him._

_A younger him who was kissing Richie._

_When he turned away, Kimberly was gone._

Kimberly clutched her hands as tightly over her mouth as she could, blood seeping through her fingers with each cough that wracked her body. She was rapidly running out of time. She needed them to remember. There was no telling what could happen if their memories weren’t rebuilt in time.

The small piece of Pennywise that resided in her though weakened a considerable amount was still fighting. They had to remember so she could fade and take it with her.

Eddie woke, panic setting in at the familiar sound of soft beeping, sitting up in the bed and clutching at his chest. It was like something was clawing at him from the inside and Kimberly’s words came back to him.

She was all of them.

And this was the pain she felt.

“Eddie!” Richie’s voice echoed in the hospital room and the door slammed shut behind him as he rushed to Eddie’s bedside; Styrofoam coffee cup held tightly in his hand. “Oh thank fuck… when you collapsed… we didn’t know what to do. Stan called an ambulance. You were so pale and covered in sweat and I just… I couldn’t leave you here alone. I know you hate hospitals –”

“I never told you that.” Eddie breathed, trying to stay calm despite his surroundings.

“No – but I just _know_. Stan and Bill had to go back to the college… tell them what happened… but I just I couldn’t go. I had to stay here.”

Eddie couldn’t fight the smile that came to his face. “Thanks Richie.”

“It’s no problem Eds.” Richie said, a wide grin on his face. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

_They were squeezed onto Richie’s bed, their video game forgotten. Eddie was clutching at Richie’s hand, his throat raw from his frustrated crying and his eyes were puffy. Richie’s thumb was stroking comforting circles on the back of Eddie’s hand and Eddie himself was dressed in sweats and a shirt that were too big for him since they belonged to Richie._

_“Thuh-thanks.” Eddie choked between his sobs._

_“You know she’ll want you to go back once she’s calmed down.”_

_“What the fuck am I supposed to do until then, Rich?”_

_Richie gave his hand a squeeze. “You can stay here. My parents won’t mind. You know I’d do anything for you. Now get your butt in the bed and sleep. I have to tell them what’s going on.”_

_Richie climbed awkwardly from the bed, scrambling over Eddie in the process. He stopped at the door, a smile coming to his face._

_“By the way. I am too.”_


	11. Bill

 

_“We could flood out the whole barrens if we wanted to.”_

_Bill and Eddie both looked sceptically to Ben and then down at the boards, sledgehammer and shovel he’d brought with him._

_“I dunno…” Eddie said, sharing a glance with Bill. “When we tried it yesterday it didn’t work very well. The current kept washing the sticks away.”_

_“This’ll work.” Ben said, looking over to Bill for the final decision._

_“Wuh-well, let’s guh-give it a try.” Bill said. “I cuh-called Ruh-Richie this morning. He’s guh-gonna be over luh-later. Maybe he and Stuh-huh-hanley will want to huh-help.”_

_“Stanley?” Ben repeated._

_“You met him the other day when you fell down on us near the sewer pipe.” Eddie said, realising that Stan hadn’t really spoken the entire time that they’d been patching Ben up; not even to introduce himself. “Curly hair. If you think what happened to you was bad, you should be glad you’re not Stan. Someone’s always raking Stan to the dogs and back.”_

_“Why?”_

_Bill and Eddie exchanged another glance and Bill sighed. “Stan’s juh-huh-hooish. Luh-lots of kuh-kids don’t luh-like him because of it. Especially Buh-huh-owers.”_

_“My gawd! Someone put the Y-pool down in the Barrens! Bellybutton lint and all!” A cheery voice called._

_Eddie turned, and standing above them slightly upstream were Richie and Stan, the latter not looking too pleased to be dragged to the Barrens **again**. Richie came bopping down the path towards them, glanced to Ben with some interest, and then he pinched Eddie’s cheek._

_“Don’t do that!” Eddie snapped, batting Richie’s hand away. “I hate it when you do that, Richie!”_

_“Ah, you love it Eds!” Richie said, beaming at him. “So what do you say? You havin’ any good chucks or what?”_

“Damn Bill, you look like you haven’t slept in a month.” Eddie said when Bill sat down next to him in their philosophy class.

“I fuh-feel like I haven’t.” Bill groaned, dropping his books onto the desk with a bang that made Stan flinch; hands rising to rub at his temples. “I’m guh-guessing Stan feels the same.”

Richie leaned around Stan, shooting Bill a grin. “He’s coffee crashing right now. All the caffeine is catching up to him.”

“Ruh-right.” Bill said, sluggishly opening his books.

Eddie chewed at his lip for a moment in silence, his pen tapping almost soothingly against his open notebook. “Are you still –”

“Yeah.”

“If this keeps up we’re gonna becoming sleeping pill junkies.” Eddie groaned, leaning back in his seat. “I had another one too.”

“I cuh-can’t keep duh-doing thuh-this. I nuh-need to sleep, damn it.” Bill complained, propping his head up with his hand.

“We all do.” Stan sounded irritable, still rubbing his fingers against his temples. “I just wish I knew why this was happening.”

“I told you why.” Eddie hissed.

“I’m sorry, you expect me to believe some girl visited you in your sleep to tell you about this _Derry_ place? Do I look _that_ stupid?”

Eddie huffed, dropping his pen and folding his arms. “I’m not making it up, Stanley. She said her name was Kimberly and something named Maturin made her.”

Bill suddenly envisioned a turtle.

A turtle that was _speaking_ to him.

“What the fuck is a Maturin?” Richie asked.

“How the fuck am _I_ supposed to know?” Eddie snapped as they started on their work, copying down the notes the professor was making on the board. “She didn’t give me a damn A to Z on this shit, Richie. She just said that Maturin created her from _our_ memories and we have to go back to Derry to some house.”

“And I’m sorry… you believed that?” Stan asked warily, glancing to Eddie. “Like, are you sure you didn’t _imagine_ that?”

“It felt real enough. And…” Eddie sucked in a breath, collecting himself. “She showed me a picture of a clown. A clown named Pennywise.”

_“Is this not real enough for you Billy?” Pennywise feigned hurt, its golden eyes fixated on Bill and only Bill as it took a step towards him, and Bill could see Eddie sitting on the remains of the kitchen table that he’d crashed through just behind the clown; his arm broken. “ **I’m** not real enough? It was real enough for Georgie.” _

Bill’s pen suddenly snapped in his hand, the blue ink staining his skin and the page he’d been writing his notes on. “Shuh-shit.”

Eddie was staring at him, concern clear on his face. “Bill? Are you –”

“God fucking damn it.”

Richie stared, his mouth hanging open. “He didn’t stutter…”

Eddie was ferreting through his backpack now, hunting out a pack of wet wipes from near the bottom and opening it quickly before handing one to Bill so he could clean off his hand.

“Thuh-thanks.” Bill vigorously scrubbed the ink from his hand with the wet wipe.

How had he managed to forget about the clown who had killed his brother? How did something like that just become _erased_ from his memory at random?

“Yuh-you said Kih-Kimberly said Duh-Derry, yeah?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“I thuh-think we should go.”

“We can’t just _go_.” Stan hissed.

Richie furrowed his brow, pausing in the middle of the notes he was making. “Why the fuck not? We _need_ to go there, right? For our own sanity. So I’m with Bill on this.”

Eddie sighed, reaching up and pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Stan’s right, but it’s more of a… Kimberly said there were seven of us.”

“How are we supposed to find the other people, Eds? They might not even –”

“Don’t fucking call me that or –”

“– go to this college – you know you like it Eds – and even if they _do_ go here, we can’t just go up to people and be like _hey, you been having any fucked up dreams lately about things that feel so damn real you swear they could be memories?_ ”

“First of all, I’ll strangle you if you ever call me that again, Richie, I swear to fuck. Secondly, I hate to admit it but you’re right.”

“I wonder if there’s a way for us to know. Like, if Kimberly visits you again you can ask her right? Or maybe if we go there, we can remember who they are.”

Stan exhaled sharply, eyes closed as he leaned back in his seat. “I hate to admit it, but Richie’s got a point. If we _did_ go, we’d remember who the others were and then we can just take them back another time.”

Eddie chewed at the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if we have enough time for that. Kimberly said she was running out of time with restoring our memories.”

“That’s muh-more the reason to go juh-just us.” Bill said. “Suh-so we can at least remember who is muh-missing instead of wuh-wasting time looking.”

Eddie mulled it over for a moment before nodding. “Ruh-right. So… when do we go?”

“We can go next month.” Richie said. “It’ll be winter break anyway so I say we go then. We can drive there, find a motel, die for a few hours, and then we go find this house. Did she even tell you the location of the house?”

“No. She didn’t tell me but… from some of the dreams I’ve been having, I’m pretty sure it’s an abandoned house that literally _no one_ would ever buy in a million years. How hard could it be to find a house like that in a town?”

Stan laughed without humour. “You’d be surprised Eddie. So… we’re really doing this? We’re gonna just _go_ to Derry because some girl in Eddie’s dream told her to?”

“Even if it turns out to be a flop it’s worth a try.” Richie pointed out.

“Are we really ditching our families at Christmas for that?” Eddie asked.

“No, silly! It’s just a stop along the way.”

“It’s so _not_ on the way.” Stan groaned. “Not for me or Eddie.”

Eddie shifted in his seat. “I mean… I don’t _mind_ the ditching. I’d rather… go to this Derry place than go home anyway.”

“What? Why?” Richie demanded. “It’s _Christmas_. Who doesn’t wanna go home for _that_?”

“Yuh-yeah. Wuh-why wouldn’t you wanna see your parents on Christmas?” Bill asked.

“Because my mom is overbearing and if I have to see her for two whole weeks I’ll scream and jump off the roof or something.”

Stan snorted at that. “Well, how about you come back with me?”

“Stan I can’t impose like –”

“Eddie, my family doesn’t celebrate Christmas. It’ll be fine. And… if you want to go back _just_ for Christmas day I’ll take you there myself and make sure you don’t jump off the roof.”

“Can I just… see her on New Year and flee?”

Stan chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure thing Eddie. Is that a yes? I have to let my parents know.”

“You sure they won’t mind?”

“I’m like ninety-five percent sure that if I lay it on thick my mom will be like _oh no, that poor boy, bring him back with you Stanley._ ”

Bill snorted, unable to contain himself. “Fuh-fuck Stan. Oh-okay so. Wuh-we go to Derry, find this house, and thuh-then I cuh-can drive you guh-guys to Stan’s.”

“Right.” Eddie said.

When Bill returned to his dorm after class, he found that someone had folded a sheet of paper in half and slipped it under his door; his name scrawled onto the sheet in writing so messy that it made Richie’s cursive scrawled loops look almost legible. Bill picked up the sheet of paper and unfolded it, staring at the picture of the house that had been badly drawn onto it.

_“Bill you can’t go in there. This is crazy.” Beverly tried to reason._

_Bill turned sharply to face his six friends; all of which were gathered on the pathway that lead up the porch of the Neibolt house. “Look, you don’t have to come in here with me, but what happens when another Georgie goes missing, or another Betty or another Ed Corcoran or… one of us? Are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen like everything else in this town? Because I can’t. I go home and all I see is that Georgie isn’t there. His clothes, his toys… his stupid stuffed animals. They’re all there but he isn’t. So walking into this house for me... It’s easier than walking into my own.”_

_Richie adjusted his glasses, jaw slack. “Wow.”_

_“What?” Eddie asked, his attention shifting from Bill to Richie._

_“He didn’t stutter once…”_

_“Wait.” Stan said as Bill turned back to the house. “Uhh, shouldn’t we have some people keep watch? You know… just in case something bad happens?”_

_Bill sighed, once again turning to face them. “Wh-wh-who wants to stay out here?”_

_Everyone except for Beverly raised a hand._


	12. Richie

 

Richie was in the middle of writing his essay for psychology when his attention was dragged back to reality by a loud bang. For a moment he had considered that it might be Stan, but Stan didn’t leave the dorm without his key anymore. Stan was in the student union with Bill. Stan was not making the bang. There was another bang and Richie tossed his work to one side on the bed, sluggishly dragging himself to his feet and heading to the door.

He was not expecting to see a frustrated Eddie leaning against his own door with his forehead pressed against it and his hand curled into a fist next to his head. Wasn’t he supposed to be on a date? He’d told them he had one tonight with some guy from his medical class. So why was he _here_ and not out on his date? Richie opened his mouth to ask as much when Eddie moved his hand back from the door and slammed his fist against it again.

“God fucking damn it.”

“Uh, is there a reason you’re beating up the door that I’m pretty sure did nothing to deserve such treatment, Eds?” Richie asked; voice wary.

“Because people fucking suck, Richie! They’re stupid! They suck! And I hate them!” Eddie snapped, slamming his fist into the door again with another bang that made Richie flinch. “And I don’t have my key, and Mike’s not here because he’s on a date and I fucking…” He slammed his fist against the wood again. “ _Damn it._ ”

Richie raised a hand to his face, adjusting his glasses carefully. “Did uh… something happen on your… date? That was tonight right? Did he hurt you or something? Do I have to go and find him and beat him up?”

Eddie managed to laugh at that, his body shaking with the action. “Oh my god… no offense Trashmouth but I really don’t think you could fight your way out of a paper bag. You’re all…” He raised his arms and flailed them around. “Scrawny limbs and stuff.”

“Oh yeah totally _no_ offense taken to _that_ at all.” Richie deadpanned.

“Sorry I just…” Eddie sighed, shaking his head. “He stood me up okay? There. You can get a laugh out of that.”

Richie blinked owlishly, a frown crossing his face. “Why would I laugh at that, Eds? That’s not funny at all. Wait here a sec.”

Eddie slowly pushed himself up from the door and turned to press his back against it as Richie vanished back into his room. Eddie could hear him moving around for a moment, muttering things to himself that he couldn’t quite make out from the hallway before he returned with his dorm key and phone in hand while he pulled on his jacket.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked as Richie pulled the door shut behind him. “You aren’t going to try and fight this guy are you?”

Richie chuckled. “No Eds. You make it pretty clear that I can’t fight for shit. I’m taking you out instead.”

“Oh – _wait what_?”

Richie tucked his dorm key into his pocket with his phone, reaching out and grabbing Eddie’s wrist before pulling him down the hallway. “I said. I’m taking you out.”

“Why?”

“Because for one, you deserve it, for two, I’m hungry, and for three, I’m not gonna let you beat up a door because a jerk stood you up.”

“Richie –”

“Nope. We’re doing this.”

Eddie sighed and relented, allowing Richie to pull him down the hallway.

Thirty minutes later they were sitting in the bed of Richie’s truck facing each other in the parking lot of a McDonalds. Eddie had been insistent that it would be impossible for them to be able to get food after nine, but Richie had proved him wrong. It wasn’t like Eddie’s mother had been fond of letting him eat greasy fast food when he was growing up; insisting that it would make him sick. Unless she herself cooked it personally, it was a no go.

“I can’t believe that you’ve _never_ had fast food before.” Richie said, shaking his head in amusement as he popped a fry into his mouth. “What the hell kind of sheltered life you lived until now, Eds?”

“One where my mother wouldn’t let me have stuff like this, clearly. She was convinced this stuff would make me sick. She was convinced everything would make me sick. Or maybe she wasn’t and that was just her way of keeping me under her thumb.”

Richie frowned, the next fry dropping from his hand. “Christ how bad was she?”

“Bad enough to have me on a ton of bullshit medication that turned out to be sugar pills. I’m not even sure if my inhaler is real but… it helps when things get too bad or overwhelming.”

“It helped Stan once too.”

_Twice, Richie, don’t you remember?_

“Yeah. Maybe it _is_ real then.” Eddie leaned back against the side of the truck. “So you’re not gonna ask?”

“About your mom? No. She sounds like a monster.”

Eddie laughed, throwing a fry at him. “That’s my _mother_.”

“More like monsther.”

“Fair. She was really overbearing. Being here in a different city… in college… I feel like I can finally breathe, you know? I spent so long smothered and sheltered by her and… oppressed...”

Richie grabbed the milkshake at his side to take a quick sip. “She doesn’t know you’re gay?”

“No she – how did _you_ know? I could have been bi.”

Richie chuckled, placing the drink back down next to him. “I’ve never seen you check out a girl, Eds. Seen you check out plenty boys though. Plus Heather told me.”

“What? Why would she –”

“Because we’re all on the same team Eds.”

_“I am too.”_

“Wait, you’re –”

_Eddie sat upright on Richie’s bed. “You’re gay too?”_

_“Well… kind of…”_

“Part of Heather’s bisexual batcave, yeah. I’m used to people just _knowing_ that. It’s weird to have to tell someone with words. They usually take one look at me and just _know_ that I’m a bisexual mess. So, are you feeling any better?”

“I am actually. Thanks for this, Richie.”

“Any time Eds. I’d do anything for you.”

Eddie smiled and Richie returned it. This whole thing felt natural.

_They were kissing. Eddie couldn’t remember how it got to this point. They’d been arguing about something, but he couldn’t remember what. In his frustration Richie had surged forward and kissed him and…_

_He didn’t want it to stop. And neither did Richie. He was gripping at Eddie’s sides, pushing him back against one of the quarry trees to keep him trapped there._

_Two years._

_That was the argument. Two years of Richie bottling everything in. Two years of Eddie getting frustrated **because** Richie kept everything in…_

_Two years waiting for a moment like this._

“Something wrong Eds?” Richie asked.

Eddie shook his head quickly. “No, no. It’s nothing. I just…”

“You’re getting them when you’re awake now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna share?”

“I – I think we were friends. I think in Derry we were friends… like _best_ friends.”

Richie was laughing. “Boy do I feel sorry for you.” His laughter died into an almost fond smile. “You know what… I think we were too, Eds. In one of my… dreams? I was trying to protect you from something. You’d broken your arm…”

“The clown.”

Richie hummed, the sound low in his throat. “Yeah. The clown… but it wasn’t _just_ a clown and shit this makes no sense. It changed. It change into a werewolf.”

“The sooner we find that house in Derry, the better.”

“Isn’t Mike from Derry? He might know the place we need to go to.”

“I – wow yeah. I forgot about that.”

“It’s a good thing you have me around, Eds.” Richie joked, dropping his now empty cup into the paper bag. “You ready to go back? It’s freezing out here.”

“What if Mike –”

“You can come sit with me and Stan until he is.” Richie assured him as they climbed out of the truck to toss their trash away. “I won’t leave you out in the hall. I have to think of the door.”

“You’re horrible!” Eddie groaned, shoving him.

Richie stumbled and laughed, suddenly becoming aware of the dizzy feeling that was rapidly taking over his mind. He reached out for Eddie, fingers barely grazing his jacket as he felt his body tipping backwards until it hit the ground, eliciting a groan from him.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice sounded so far away even though he was leaning over him, and Richie could see the panicked expression on his face.

_“I-I think the sev-hun of us could puh-put you in the hospital.” Bill spat, eyeing Henry Bowers who was defenceless and alone; head bleeding from the rock that collided with his head._

_Eddie was crying almost uncontrollably in Richie’s bedroom. “It was a lepper and he –”_

_Richie walked between Bill, Stan and Eddie through the school Hallways.“Think they’ll sign my yearbook? Dear Richie, sorry for taking a big steaming –”_

_Eddie was lying on a broken table, cradling his broken arm. “Eddie!”_

_Richie was holding Eddie’s inhaler in his mouth, taking a hit from it. “Tastes like fucking battery acid.”_

_Richie was running through the sewers, flashlight in hand and stricken with panic. “Stan! Stan where are you?”_

_Eddie was at his side, leaning over him in the dark sewer, covered in blood. “Richie!”_

_A clown had Bill around the throat._

_Richie pulled a bat from the nearby pile of junk. “Welcome to the losers club asshole!”_

_The clown was Alvin Marsh. “Are you still my little girl?”_

_The clown was a lepper and it vomited on Eddie. “I’ll fucking kill you!”_

_“Richie? Richie! I don’t know if you can hear me right now! I don’t know if this will work but I’m too weak to manifest to you the way I did with Eddie. The house! The house you need to go to! It’s called –”_

Richie jerked into a sitting position, breathing heavily as he tried to right his spinning world. Eddie was crouched next to him, one hand pressed to his shoulder and his inhaler at the ready just in case.

“Richie?”

“Neibolt! The house. We have to go to Neibolt House!”


	13. Mike

 

_Mike’s heart thudded in his chest as he reached the edge beam in the cellar hold and looked down. Nested in the cellar hold itself was a bird, and the moment his eyes found it, it looked up. The bird was monstrous with a bright orange chest like a robin and feathers that were the unremarkable grey of a sparrow. The bird was seated in the middle of its nest, brightly ringed eyes black like tar._

_For a moment, Mike could see himself reflected in them._

_The ground began to shift and run out from under Mike’s feet and he heard the tearing of the shallow roots giving away. He was sliding. He threw himself backward, thumping heavily against the littered ground. A chunk of metal pressed painfully into his back, and the sound of a whirring reached his ears._

_The bird was taking flight._

_Mike scrambled to his knees, crawled, and looked back over his shoulder. The bird was rising out of the cellar hold. Mike hastily climbed to his feet and ran, pounding across the field and refusing to look back at the giant bird, and while it didn’t **look** like Rodan, he sensed it was, at the very least, it’s spirit; risen from the cellar hold of the Ironworks._

_A shadow covered him and when he looked up, he saw the bird. Its dirty yellow beak opened and closed; revealing a pink lining inside. It whirled towards Mike and the wind from its wings washed over his face; bringing a dry and unpleasant smell with it._

_Mike jigged to the left, and he could see the fallen smokestack; sprinting directly for it. The bird screamed and its wings fluttered. Something slammed into the back of Mike’s head and he could suddenly feel the heat of the wound on the back of his neck and the blood that trickled out of it._

_Mike cut sharply to the right when the bird swooped down at him; barely missing its target from the sudden movement, and Mike was now running parallel to the fallen smokestack, eyes fixed on the end of it. That’s where he needed to go. That’s where he would be safe._

_The bird flew for him again, pulling up as it closed in on Mike, wings flapping and pushing air towards him; talons angled towards him as it descended. Mike put his arm up and rammed it forward. The talons closed around his forearm; the grip like a vice tipped with spikes that bit into his flesh. The bird rose then and for a moment, Mike felt his feet leave the ground._

_“Let me go!” Mike screamed at the bird, twisting his arm._

_The talons held on for a moment, but when Mike’s sleeve ripped, he was falling back to the ground with a thud. Mike didn’t waste his time in crawling into the smokestack. He ran into the darkness without thinking what might be in there, running from the bright circle of daylight at the end._

The dream was still fresh in Mike’s mind even when he went to class. His leg bounced anxiously under the desk and his fingers drummed against the table as he tried to push the dream from his mind. It felt so real. Like a memory. Maybe it _was_ a memory. Something he’d buried deep inside but…

No.

Birds weren’t that big. That was impossible. And they didn’t have orange puffs on their tongue like what you’d find on a clown’s suit.

It was just a dream. Nothing else. Just a dream, just a dream, just a –

_Bill turned towards Henry. “Guh-get out.”_

_“What if I won’t?” Henry was trying to sound tough, but they could see a difference in him. He was scared and he would leave. It should have made them feel good, triumphant even, but they were just so tired._

_Bill’s hand tightened on the rock he was holding. “If you won’t… wuh-we’re guh-gonna muh-hove in in on yuh-you. I think the suh-six of us can puh-hut you in the hoh-hospital.”_

_Mike stood, his world spinning for a moment. Stan grabbed at his arm carefully to keep him up, squeezing ever so slightly. “Seven.”_

_“I got bones to pick with **all** of you.” Henry said, his voice wavering despite his words. “But I’m willing to let it go if you just give me the nigger.”_

_“Get out of here.” Beverly said, voice firm as her nails scraped against the rock in her hand. “You’re **alone** Henry. You don’t have Vic and Belch here to back you up. We’re not afraid of you anymore.”_

_“Shut up you **cunt**.” Henry spat, standing upright. “You –”_

_Four rocks, carefully aimed by Bill, Beverly, Richie and Eddie hit Henry in four different places._

_Henry scrambled backward, his attention zeroed in on the seven of them. There were no longer traces of the fear he’d instilled into them. They were firm, brave, and he no longer had the means to make them scramble away at the mere sight of him._

_“I’ll kill you all.” Henry warned, pointing at them as he backed into the trees where Vic and Belch and already vanished._

Mike took in a deep breath, realising that he’d zoned out during class. He was day dreaming. Day dreaming of the people he’d only met this year but younger. He shouldn’t know what they looked like when they were younger. That was impossible and yet…

He knew what he needed to do.

When his class was dismissed, Mike grabbed his things and squeezed his way through the group of students heading for the door.

“Eddie!” Mike called, spotting his roommate heading for the dorm building to drop off his medical books. “Eddie!”

Eddie paused at the door and tilted his head to look over his shoulder, spotting Mike running towards him. It was only now that Mike was noticing just how exhausted Eddie was lately; the patch of skin under his eyes looking dark as though he hadn’t slept for weeks

“Mike? What’s wrong?”

Mike slowed to a stop in front of him, panting to catch his breath. “I know… I know you’ve been having them.”

Eddie furrowed his brow. “I’m not following.”

“The dreams. The dreams that keep you up at night and feel so real that it’s like a memory. I heard you talking to Richie and Stan about them a couple of weeks ago. I – I’m having them too.”

Eddie’s hand tightened around the strap of his bag. “I – yeah. I’ve been having them. So have Richie and –”

_“I’m **scared**. I don’t – I don’t think I can go back in there a third time.” Stan was trembling, his voice wavering on the edge of tears._

_Mike took his hand, carefully threading their fingers together and stepping towards him; cattle gun thumping against his back. “You can do this. I’m here with you. Everyone’s here.”_

“Mike?”

“Sorry I… I keep zoning out.” Mike said. “What were you saying?”

“Bill and Stan are having them too. The only thing we know is that we have to go to Derry to a place called Neibolt house.”

Mike frowned, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. “The abandoned place that no one ever wants but no one ever rips down. I know that place. Everyone in the town says it’s haunted.”

“They might be right about that Mike. All I know is that this Neibolt house has all of the answers I need. Could you… we were gonna go there during winter break and… could you take us there? To that house?”

Mike bit at his lip, considering it for a moment before he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I can take you there. Just remind me closer to the date. My mind’s a little –”

“Foggy?”

“Yeah.”

“Welcome to the club. I’m kind of glad that I don’t have to hide this from you anymore but… I’m also not… because it means _you’re_ suffer –”

Eddie fell silent, staring at something over Mike’s shoulder. Mike turned and followed Eddie’s vision to a bench where Kimberly was sitting, a small pile of sketchbooks at her side and one in her lap. Kimberly raised a hand as she coughed, and when she lowered it, there was an unmistakable patch of blood on her hand.

“Eddie?” Mike turned back to Eddie who was still staring at the girl. “Do you… do you know her or something?”

“Or something.” Eddie said, pushing by Mike and storming over to her. Mike groaned and jogged after him. Eddie wasn’t exactly the nicest person in the world when he was frustrated.

Kimberly looked up when Eddie reached her, pausing in whatever she was drawing, eyes widening as though the dorms were the _last_ place she expected to see any of the people she’d been drawing.

“Who are you torturing now Kimberly? Who are you running so far into exhaustion that they feel like dying? Who are you hurting?” Eddie demanded, reaching out for the sketchbook on her lap. “It can’t be me since I actually slept last night for the first time in a month… is it Stan? Bill? _Richie?_ ”

“No! Eddie, don’t –” Kimberly reached for the sketchbook but Eddie took a step back from her, snapping it shut to look at the name on the cover.

**Beverly Marsh.**

_“IT has Beverly.” Stan’s voice sounded almost broken down the phone and Mike could feel his hand tighten on the phone._

_Beverly was floating in the air, her head tilted up towards to the sewer grate and her eyes glazed over._

_The five of them had pulled Beverly down from the air._

_Ben kissed her._

_Beverly woke up._

_“That’s why you couldn’t kuh-hil Buh-ever-lee. Cuh-cause she’s n-n-not afraid of you.”_

Eddie had dropped the sketchbook, almost as if he’d seen whatever Mike had. Kimberly scrambled to pick it up, clutching it to her chest.

“I’m sorry! I told you before Eddie! I _have_ to do this and _you_ have to go back to that house!” Kimberly said, her fingers gripping at the edges of the book.

“Why? Why do we have to remember this? And don’t show me another confusing picture and then vanish or spin some story about how you want to fade!” Eddie snapped. “ _Tell me why we need to remember **all** of this. Why the clown? Why… why do have to remember what it did?_”

Kimberly drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t get it! The clown is the connection! He’s the reason the seven of you became so close… became a family. You have to remember what it did so you can remember why you were friends in the first place. Remember your first day here Eddie? You wouldn’t even give Richie a second glance and for a while you were just putting up with him because he’s Stan’s roommate. But now you’re closer because you’re remembering the connection… the pull… you’re remembering the tie that bound your together.”

“The oath…” Mike breathed, looking down at the palm of his hand. He’d always had a scar there but he never recalled how he got it.

_There were seven of them standing in a circle, palms bleeding as they held hands. This was their promise. A blood oath to come back if the clown did._

“That’s the tie? The oath?” Eddie asked. He was looking at his own palm, running his thumb against the scar.

Kimberly nodded. “That and the clown. Without the clown you wouldn’t have made that oath. I… Eddie I know what will happen if you _don’t_ remember everything and let me fade.”

“What will happen?” Eddie’s frustration and anger had faded now. He reached out, his hands pressing against Kimberly’s arms gently. “Please… help me understand why this is so important because it just feels like you’re torturing us. What will happen?”

“I – it – if you don’t remember and let me fade and take what’s left of it with me… it _will_ come back… and if it comes back… more kids will die. Do you even remember the names of the people who died last time? Do you even remember _Georgie?_ ”

_Bill pointed the cattle gun at Georgie’s forehead. “You’re not Georgie.”_

_Bill was clutching a yellow raincoat in his hand, and the label inside caught Mike’s attention._

**_Georgie Denbrough._ **

“If it comes back all of this starts again… and two of you will die. I know this because Maturin told me.” Kimberly pushed the sketchbook closer to her chest; clutching it like a lifeline. “I’ve seen it happen. That’s why I’m running out of time. If it gets out of me before you remember… before I can fade… it gets to take its sleep and then wake up again stronger than it was the day you defeated it.”

“How did it even attach to you?”

“Maturin. He prevented its sleep by trapping its core in me. If I die… it dies… but for me to die… you all have to remember. The more you remember, the more I forget because… they’re not my memories to have. I told you. I’m all of you. I’m everything you left behind. The fear you buried deep down inside of you. The bonds that were broken. That’s what makes me exist and you need to take them back.”

Mike’s eyes travelled to the stack of books on the bench just behind Kimberly, staring at the name scrawled onto the cover.

**Michael Hanlon.**

“So you’ve been doing this to us?” Mike asked. “How long?”

Kimberly looked up at him, chewing on her lip. “Since the day all seven of you entered the campus grounds for the first time.”


	14. Beverly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys! I know waiting for updates can be a nightmare and I love how patient most of you are, but for those who aren't as patient I DO ask that you remember I'm constantly having to go through my pdf copy of the book for a lot of memories.

 

“Feather!”

Heather let out a sudden shriek as someone lifted her, dropping her books onto the floor in surprise and kicking her feet out, almost catching the folders in Beverly’s hand; forcing the girl to take a step back to avoid the assault. Beverly laughed as she spotted Richie just behind Heather with his arms wound tightly around her stomach and a wide grin on his face.

“Put me down you fucking asshole!” Heather shrieked, pounding her fists against the arms around her.

A few people sent them wary glances, but otherwise carried on their way. Beverly’s laugh died in her throat as she watched Richie hoist Heather further up; eliciting another shriek as she tried to slam her heels into his crotch.

_“Richie put me down!” Eddie snapped, kicking at Richie’s legs and slamming his fists against his arms as Richie carried him across the park. “This isn’t funny come on!”_

_“Gotta lift your Eds once in a while!” Richie joked, but he slowly lowered him back to the ground anyway._

_“That’s not my name!”_

“You’re such an ass.” Heather huffed, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring up at him now that he’d returned her to his feet.

“I told him it was a bad idea but he wouldn’t listen.” Eddie sighed, crouching and picking up the books Heather had dropped; holding them out to her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

Heather grinned, taking the books from Eddie and holding them against her chest. “Don’t worry about it, Eddie. It’s not your fault he’s an asshole. This jerk’s been harassing my short ass since we were fifteen.”

“Well, maybe you should learn to grow, Feather.” Richie slammed a hand down onto her head with another grin, ruffling her hair.

“Maybe _you_ need to stop letting people stretch you on a rack!” Heather retorted.

“Wow is that the best you have? I didn’t train you well at all.”

Heather smacked him with her notebook. Richie yelped and jumped back from her, rubbing at his arm where the hit had landed. Heather followed him, smacking her notebook against his other arm a few times; the sound echoing around them.

“This is abuse!” Richie shouted, and Heather hit him again. “Eds. Bev. Come on guys call off the demon!”

“You asked for this.” Beverly said, smiling sweetly.

“Absolutely not.” Eddie deadpanned. “You deserve it.”

“I feel betrayed – ow.” Richie snatched the notebook from Heather and smacked it against her head swiftly. “Do not make me call Aunt Claudia and tell her you’re being abusive again, Heather. Now as for you, Eds, did our date mean _nothing_ to you?”

Eddie scowled at him. “That wasn’t a –”

“Yeah, you know something, you’re right.” Richie hummed thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t take you to some McDonalds to eat in the bed of my truck late at night if it was a date. I’d take you to that nice little diner around the corner and then to a movie. How about it Eds?”

“What? How did this become – _no_.”

Heather jumped to get her notebook back but Richie raised it higher into the air. Beverly giggled. “You can have it back when Eds agrees to one date.”

“That’s _blackmail_.”

“Personally I call it an even trade.”

Heather snorted, jumping for the notebook again which Richie swapped over to his other hand. “I’m not sure if you’re implying that Eddie means about as much as a notebook, or that a notebook means as much as Eddie.”

“I call it something I want for something you want.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and jumped up, snagging the notebook from Richie’s hand. “Fine, I’ll go on the dumb date, but you have to stop harassing Heather for thirty days.”

“Ah, you drive a hard bargain Eds – it’s a date! I’ll kidnap you from your dorm at seven Friday; make sure you’re ready!”

Eddie handed the notebook back to Heather before he started to shove Richie down the hallway. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Thanks Eddie!” Heather called as Eddie shoved Richie a little harshly around a corner.

“They’re the weirdest couple I’ve ever met in my life.” Beverly said once they were out of earshot.

Heather scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, tell me about it.”

Beverly grinned, shaking her head in amusement. “Oh, can you watch my stuff a moment? Need to use the little girl’s room.”

“Sure thing Bev.” Heather took Beverly’s things from her, waiting outside the toilets while her friend vanished into the room.

Beverly stood in the middle of the girl’s bathroom for a moment, her head tilting towards the mirror. The reflection looking back at her looked nothing like her own. The long flowing red hair was gone, cut down into short fluffy red curls. Her clothes were more covering than the skirt and shirt that she was currently wearing. The reflection was wearing a dirty white and blue dress with a belt attached in the middle.

Beverly approached at the mirror, staring at the young freckled girl who was staring back at her. That was definitely _her_. She knew that from the pictures her mother had of her from her younger days. Raising her hand, Beverly pressed her palm against the mirror and then looked down at the white porcelain of the sink that was splattered in red.

_Beverly took the pocket tape from her father’s tools and carried it back to the bathroom, her anxiety spiking in her chest. Once inside, she stared down the dark drain of the sink, her body frozen and her mouth dry. She waited for the voices, but no voices came like the last time._

_She sighed and set to work, feeding the thin yellow tape into the drain. It went down the wide pipe smoothly, and Beverly counted the inches. Six. Seven. Ten._

_The tape stopped, caught in the elbow-bend of the drain and Beverly wiggled the tape; pushing it gently at the same time. The tape began to slide down again. Thirteen inches. Fourteen. Sixteen._

_Two feet. Three feet._

_The tape got caught again and Beverly gave it another wiggle. The tape made a faint noise as though it was a saw being bent back and forth at a fast pace. She managed to bend it again, and once more the tape slid down into the pipe._

_Six feet. Seven. Nine –_

_The tape suddenly began to slide through her hand by itself as if something had taken hold of the end and was either pulling it or running with it. She stared at the tape, eyes wide, and her mouth dropping open in fear._

_The tape ran out to its final stop; Eighteen feet._

_And then a soft chuckle came out of the drain, followed by a low whisper._

_“Beverly, Beverly, Beverly. You can’t fight us. You’ll die if you try. Die if you try. Die if you try. Beverly. Beverly. Beverly – ly-ly-ly.”_

_Something clicked in the tape measure’s case and then the tape was moving again. It was running rapidly back into the case, the numbers and hashmarks blurring by in her vision. Near the end, five feet or so, the yellow became dark; dripping red with thick blood._

_Beverly dropped the tape and screamed._

“Beverly!”

The bathroom door clattered open and she heard someone setting something onto the sink unit quickly before Heather was crouched at her side, one arm pressed comfortingly against her shoulder while the other was being used to keep Heather balanced. Beverly didn’t know when she had hit the floor; sitting in the middle of the bathroom and staring up at the mirror with wide fearful eyes.

And the mirror….

The mirror was covered in blood and the reflection was warped. It wasn’t _her_ in the mirror looking down at her anymore.

It was a clown.

Beverly scrambled to her feet, almost knocking Heather over in the process, and she rushed into the nearby stall to vomit into the toilet, the memory of the tape covered in coagulated blood fresh in her mind.

_You’ll die if you try._

_Die if you try._

_Die if you –_

_Beverly stood over the fallen form of Alvin Mash, the porcelain lid of the toilet’s tank held firmly in her hand. Her father lay motionless on the ground; blood pooling around his head from where she’d assaulted him with the lid._

_She dropped the porcelain to the floor where it shattered and turned to leave. She needed to call someone. Anyone. She just needed her frie –_

_A large clown stood in the doorway, and before she could **really** process anything, it had lashed out and grabbed her around the throat._

**_Die if you try._ **

Beverly vomited again.

“Beverly, are you –”

“I’m okay.” Beverly stood on shaky legs and grabbed some tissue, wiping her mouth and tossing it into the toilet before flushing. “I think I’m just…”

“There’s a stomach bug going around. Maybe you have that.” Heather suggested. “I heard that a couple of people on our floor had it. They could have passed it on to you.”

“Yeah… maybe… I think I’m just gonna go back to the dorm and get some rest. Can you tell the professor I don’t feel too good?”

Heather smiled. “Of course I can Bev. I’ll even take extra awesome notes just for you so you don’t miss out on anything!”

“You’re the best, Heather!” Beverly returned the smile and gathered her things from the sink unit before leaving, not even daring to look at the mirror which she just _knew_ would still be covered in thick blood.

She walked quickly back towards the dorm building, pausing as she spotted a bird soaring overhead. It was like the world had stopped, and the only thing she could focus on was the bird. It tilted in the air, turning sharply, and then vanished around the side of the building.

_Mike cleared his throat. “I saw a bird. Couple, three months ago.”_

_“What kind of bird?” Stan asked, leaning forward in interest._

_“It looks like a sparrow, sort of, but it also looked like a robin. It had an orange chest.”_

_“Well what’s so special about a bird?” Ben asked. “There are lots of birds in Derry.”_

_“This bird was bigger than a house-trailer.”_

_Beverly offered Mike a kind smile. “Tell us more about it.”_

Beverly almost laughed loudly to herself, staring at the last spot where she’d seen the bird. A bird the size of a house-trailer? Impossible. It would have to be prehistoric for that.

_“It wasn’t prehistoric.”_

Mike’s voice rang in her mind and Beverly shook her head, making her way into the dorm building where she held the door open for a girl in paint splattered clothes with a stack of sketch books in her arms held against her chest.

“Thanks Beverly.”

Beverly stared after the strange girl as the glass door swung shut when she released it. She’d never seen that girl before in her life.

How did she know her name?


	15. Ben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this. I've just been really short on ideas! It's kind of a short chapter and I'm sorry for that!

 

_“Hold him you guys.” Henry said, and Ben found himself being held from either side by Belch and Victor._

_Ben squirmed in attempt to get away from them, but Belch and Victor held on strong, moving easily with him one way and then the other before they would yank him back into the middle of them. Henry grabbed the front of Ben’s sweatshirt and yanked it up to expose the flesh of his stomach._

_“Look it that gut!” Henry cried in disgust. Victor and Belch laughed. Henry reached into his pocket and brought out a buck knife._

_Ben felt the terror seize him. He made another attempt to get away but Belch managed to onto his wrist; even if it was just barely. Henry stepped forward and shoved Ben back until his back met the fence behind him. Ben swallowed thickly and attempted to hold back the tears. He wouldn’t let **Henry** see him cry._

_Henry pulled out the blade, the steel glittering in the light as he moved forward. “I’m gonna test you now. Its exam time, Tits, and you better be ready. Here’s the first question. When someone says ‘let me copy’ during finals, what are you going to say?”_

_“Yes!” Ben exclaimed immediately. “I’m going to say yes! Sure! Okay! Copy all you want!”_

_Henry pressed the knife against Ben’s stomach. “That’s the wrong answer, Tits. If just **anyone** says ‘let me copy’, I don’t give a fuck what you do, got it?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Alright. Here’s the second questions. If **I** say ‘let me copy’ during finals, what are you going to say?”_

_“Yes. I’ll say yes right away!”_

_Henry smiled sickeningly. “That’s good. You’ve got that one right, Tits, now here’s the third question. How am I going to be sure you never forget that?”_

_“I – I don’t know.”_

_“I know! I’ll carve my name on your big fat guts!” Henry dragged the knife down, leaving a red line in its wake that bubbled with blood._

_“Hey!” Victor had be the one to shout, though his voice had come out shaky._

_Henry ignored him as he trailed the knife back up to the middle and then began to drag it sideways, smearing blood as he went._

_“Hey!” This time it was Belch. “Jeezum-crow Henry, don’t **really** cut him.”_

Ben stood in the bathroom he shared with Bill, his hand gripping at the bottom of his shirt. He raised it slowly, exposing his stomach and the faint scarring where Henry had managed to carve the _H_ of his name. Why was he just _now_ remembering that?

Why had he _never_ seen this mark before?

Shaking his head, Ben left the bathroom and grabbed his books, heading off to his architectural class for the day. Henry seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his dreams that turned them into some kind of childhood traumatic nightmares, standing in a town that Ben didn’t even recognize, let alone know the name of. It bothered him that he could never remember his face.

And it bothered him that the guy who sat next to him in his architect 101 class looked vaguely familiar to what little of Henry’s image was burned into his mind.

But he wasn’t Henry. The boy who sat next to him was _Harry_ , and Harry wore mullets because the fashion hadn’t quite died out yet, and he wore baggy and ripped clothes because he was into that scene. Henry was a horrible person who carved into people. Harry was a nice boy who laughed and joked with him and picked up people’s books for them even if they were the ones who had walked into him.

Harry was friendly and fun.

Henry was psychotic and dangerous.

“Good morning Ben.” Harry greeted as Ben took the usual seat next to him. “You have a rough weekend?”

“Oh god is it obvious?” Ben groaned, tilting his head back. “I just couldn’t sleep much.”

Harry was looking at him with nothing but pure sympathy in his eyes. “I feel for you Ben, I really do. Hopefully you’ll be able to get some better sleep tonight.”

“I hope so.”

Ben found it difficult to focus on his work. His mind was stuck on a loop, thinking about a girl with fire red hair and a bright smile on her face as she signed his yearbook; the cap of her pen held in her mouth. And he didn’t know how he knew it, but this girl was an outcast. She was tormented and called a slut.

He shook the thought from his head and tried to focus on his work.

But instead he drew a quick sketch of a sign on the page of his notebook that read:

**Remember the curfew.**

**7 P.M**

**Derry Police Department.**

 

And it was like someone had opened a floodgate.

_Beverly sighed and looked up at Mike. “The kids who have been killed… we know who’s been doing it, and it’s not human.”_

A clown. It was a clown. A clown who had a taste for children. But it wasn’t _really_ a clown. Ben didn’t know _what_ it was, but it wasn’t human, and it wasn’t really a clown. It turned into other things.

A clown was just another form.

But he _remembered_ it. He remembered the way it chased him through the archives of the Derry Public Library after luring him down there with eggs right after he’d read about the Ironworks explosion. It had stumbled down the stairs; headless.

‘Eggboy’ it had called him. The name was so close. It was on the tip of his tongue as he left his lecture, scrambling around his brain for more information on the clown.

_Mike coughed into his fist and then looked up at them, almost like he was apologetic for something. “I don’t know how to tell you.”_

_“Tuh-t-try.” Bill urged._

_“It came out of the sky but it wasn’t a spaceship exactly. It wasn’t a meteor either. It was more like… well like the Ark of the Covenant. In the Bible that was supposed to have the spirit of God inside of it… except this wasn’t God. Just feeling It… watching It come… you knew it meant bad… that It was **so** bad.”_

_Richie nodded. “It came from… outside. I got that feeling… from outside.”_

_“Outside where, Richie?” Eddie asked._

_“Outside everything. And when It came down… It made the biggest damn hole you ever saw in your life. It turned this big hill into a doughnut… It landed right where the downtown part of Derry is now. Do you get it?”_

_Beverly dropped her half-smoked cigarette and stepped on it as Mike spoke now. “It’s always been here… since the beginning of time… since before there were men anywhere. Unless… maybe there was just a few of them in Africa somewhere swinging through the trees or living in caves. The crater’s gone now and the ice age probably scraped the valley deeper and changed some stuff around and filled it in but It was here then, sleeping maybe, waiting for the ice to melt… waiting for the people to come.”_

_“That’s why it uses the sewers and the drains.” Richie took over again, coughing into the palm of his hand. The smoke hole had apparently taken its toll on Mike and Richie as they’d been the only ones to actually manage it. “They must be regular freeways for It.”_

_“You didn’t see what It looked like?” Stan asked abruptly and somewhat hoarsely. Mike and Richie shook their heads._

_“Can we beat it?” Eddie asked. “A thing like that?”_

_No one answered._

Still, the name was eluding him. Did the clown even have a name? Ben wasn’t sure. Anything he managed to remember about it was just that; _IT_. Why was the clown _IT_? Because they didn’t know its name? Or was it because they didn’t know its true form?

There was one thing that Ben remembered above everything else in regards to the clown, though.

It took the form of whatever they feared the most.

“Ben!”

Ben jumped at the sudden shout, dropping his books onto the floor. He looked back over his shoulder to see Bill running up the hallway, his books held firmly against his chest. Ben turned away to pick up his own discarded books, carefully tucking them back into his arms.

“What’s up Bill?” He asked once Bill was next to him.

“I-I-I’ve buh-been shouting you for a whu-whu-while now.” Bill said. “Where’s your h-h-head at?”

“Everywhere.” Ben said, almost cryptically, and then a sudden thought hit him.

There was a Bill in his dreams, and that Bill had a stutter too. Was this the same Bill? No. He couldn’t be. The chances of that were… pretty damn slim.

“I’m just tired.” Ben assured when Bill shot him a sceptical look. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Join the club, I don’t think anyone is lately. Me, you, Richie, Eddie, Stan, Mike…”

Ben felt his heart slow. The same names as the people in his dreams? That couldn’t just be a coincidence…

Could it?


	16. Stan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone gets the reference at the start of this chapter you get 10 points!

“Okay, let me explain this in a better way.” Eddie looked up from his Philosophy work to Richie. “Say you get up one morning, say goodbye to Stan, stumble off the campus somehow and get hit by a bus. That’s destiny.”

Stan looked up from his work with a smirk. “I’ll miss ya buddy.”

“Okay but no, because if you have a roommate like Stan you’re pretty much trained to always be careful so I wouldn’t stumble off the campus and if I did I always use a crosswalk and I’m always with Stan anyway so he’d pull me back before anything could happen to me like that.”

Eddie snorted. “Bus hits you anyway.”

“I’ll miss ya buddy.” Stan repeated, looking back down at his work.

“Fuh-hate.” Bill said, pausing in his own work. “Duh-hoesn’t matter where you are, if your number is up thuh-that’s it.”

“Wait a second!” Richie slammed his pen down onto his book. “Are you telling me that this bus will go through the campus and Stan just to get to me?”

Bill groaned. “I tuh-hold you. Fuh-hate. Your destiny is to get hit by a buh-hus, but it’s fuh-hate that you die by it noh muh-hatter what.” 

Richie huffed, crossing his arms. “Well you know something? I want nothing to do with fate or destiny.”

Stan shook his head, slight amusement coming to his face. Was Richie always this way? Even before they’d met here? Stan couldn’t remember. He stared at the page of his notebook, brow furrowing as he tried to remember - tried to push through the foggy haze of his memory back to when he was thirteen.

_ Stan stood just behind Richie, hands buried in his pockets as he watched him put on his show quietly. Richie turned and grinned at him before clapping a hand on his shoulder and tugging him closer to the group. _

_ “This here’s Stan the Man Uris.” Richie’s grin widened. “Stan’s a Jew. Also he killed Christ. At least that’s what Victor Criss told me one day. I’ve been after Stan since. I figure if he’s that old he ought to be able to buy us some beer. Right Stan?” _

_ When Stan spoke, his voice was low and pleasant. “I think that must have been my father.” _

_ Richie started laughing. “A good one!” He cried, striding around with his arms thrown up over his head. “Stan the Man gets off a good one! Great moments in History! Yowza-yowza-YOWza.” _

The answer was yes. Richie had always been like that.

“So wait, was it fate or destiny that we had to take on a clown at the age of fucking thirteen?” Richie asked, scratching his head with his pen.

“That’s not even relevant to the essay.” Eddie said, scribbling away in his notebook.

“Humour me I just wanna know.”

“Duh-hestiny.” Bill said. “Fuh-hate is that we beat it.”

“Is that right?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brow. “I feel like it was fate to fight it but destiny to beat it.”

“Duh-hestiny is predetermined. I fuh-heel like it was always supposed to be us.”

Stan tapped his pen against his notebook. “It’s both. It was fate that the clown brought us together, and the moment it did, it was our destiny to face it and defeat it.”

Richie tugged at his hair. “I’m more confused than I already was.”

Bill heaved a sigh. “I thuh-ink we need to stop before we break Richie’s brain.”

_ “When L-L-Larsen pitched the nuh-oh h-hitter in the world suh-heris two years ago, duh-do you think that was juh-hust luck?” _

_ Richie dragged on his cigarette and started to cough. Beverly pounded him on the back. “You’re just a beginner Richie. You’ll learn.” _

_ “I think it’s gonna fall in, Ben.” Eddie said, looking at the pegged square. “I don’t know how cool I am on the idea of getting buried alive.” _

_ “You’re not gonna get buried alive.” Ben said. “And if you are, just suck on your damn old aspirator until someone pulls you out.” _

_ For some reason, this had stricken Stan as funny. He leaned back on his elbows as he laughed, tilting his head back until Eddie kicked him and told him to shut up. _

_ “Luck.” Mike said. “I think any no-hitter’s more luck than skill.” _

_ “M-m-me too.” Bill said.  _

_ “What are you guys up to anyway?” Mike asked, leaning back with his hands laced together behind his head as he watched the floating clouds in the sky. _

_ “Oh, this is Haystack’s big idea of the week.” Richie said. “Last time, he flooded out the Barrens and that was pretty good, but this one’s a real dinner-winner. This is Dig Your Own Clubhouse Month. Next month -” _

_ “Y-you don’t nuh-nuh-need to put Buh-hen duh-hown.” Bill said, not taking his eyes off the sky. “It’s going to be guh-hood.” _

_ “God’s sake, Bill, I was just kidding.” _

_ “Suh-hum-times you kuh-hid too much, Ruh-hi-chee.” _

_ Richie accepted this and fell silent. _

_ “I still don’t get it.” Mike said. _

_ “Well it’s pretty simple.” Ben said. “They wanted a treehouse and we could do that, but people have a bad habit of breaking their bones when they fall out of tree-houses -” _

_ “Kookie… kookie… lend me your bones.” Stan said, laughing again while the others looked at him in puzzlement. Stan didn’t have much of a sense of humor and the bit he did have was sort of peculiar. _

_ “You ees goin loco, senor.” Richie said. “Eees the heat an’ the  _ **_cucarachas_ ** _ , I theenk.” _

“Stan, you okay?” Richie asked, the concern clear in his voice.

“I feel like I keep opening a memory floodgate since the first real one I had.” Stan said, rubbing at his temples.

Eddie looked at him with nothing but the purest of sympathy before digging in his backpack for something. “Here.” He fished some pills out of the tub he now held in his hand, holding them out to Stan. “It’s just Tylenol. I figured it was better to keep them in an old pill tub than it was to keep opening boxes and packets.”

“Why the hell would you keep an old pill tub?” Richie asked.

“Well… it’s not really old so much as...” Eddie paused here to fixed his glasses which had slipped down his nose. “I remembered that my medication was all placebos that my mother had me on and tipped them all away.”

“Wow, who knew  _ you  _ were a rebel?”

Eddie kicked him under the table and Richie yelped bending down to rub at his shin. “This is domestic abuse.”

“We’re not even dating!”

“Which, why the fuck not since I’ve taken you on two dates?”

Bill chuckled. “Thu-ree date ru-hule Richie.”

Stan reached out for the Tylenol and tossed them into his mouth and dry swallowed them. “Thanks Eddie.”

Richie grimaced, bringing a hand to his mouth as though the very idea of doing it himself made him want to vomit. “How the hell can you do that?” 

“Fuh-huck Richie, put your arm down. Your watch is bluh-hinding me.” Bill said, raising his arm to block out the light that was bouncing off the face of Richie’s watch.

_ Richie had hung his transistor radio over the lowest branch of the tree he was currently leaning against. Although they were all sitting in the shade, the sun still bounced off the surface of the Kenduskeag, onto the chrome facing of the radio, and then into Bill’s eyes. _

_ “Take that thuh-hing down, Ruh-Richie. It’s gonna bluh-hind me.” _

“Sure thing, Big Bill.” Richie said, lowering his arm.

Stan couldn’t help but laugh, and when Richie turned to look at him with a questioning look, Stan held up his hand to tell him to wait for a moment while he sobered. “I just… this really feels like home, you know? The four of us like this.”

Richie beamed, leaning to the side and throwing his arm around Stan’s shoulders. “Aw, Staniel, I love you too!”

Stan shoved Richie playfully. “Oh my god get off me, Richie!”

“Nope! We’re family now Staniel! Brothers til death!” 


	17. Eddie

Eddie discovered that dating Richie was an oddly pleasant experience. He’d been way too hard on the loudmouthed boy when he’d met him on the day of their orientation. A part of him reasoned that his newfound appreciation for Richie wasn’t all that new. The memories that Kimberly had been giving back to them had sparked up a lot of feelings not only for Richie, but for Stan, Mike, and Bill too.

They were a family.

But there were still two people missing.

Two people he couldn’t place.

“You’re off in your own world there again Eds.”

Eddie blinked, and he was just _now_ aware that the waitress had already come back with their food. Richie looked torn between laughing and being concerned for him, and Eddie wondered just how long he’d been zoned out for.

“It’s okay, I get it. We’re not exactly living normal lives right now with everything going on.” Richie assured him.

Eddie nodded mutely, his attention zeroing in Richie. Richie always took him to nice places. They weren’t overly upscale ‘stick on a suit’ types, but they definitely forced Richie into something other than his overly bright shirts; even if it was a button up black shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans (which Eddie was certain that Stan picked out for him and forced him into because Richie was bright and vibrant his wardrobe was an extension of that).

“You know you don’t have to bring me to places like this, right?” The words were coming out of Eddie’s mouth before he could stop them. “I mean, this place his really...”

Richie snorted, and now the mixed look on his face turned into amusement as he started to laugh. “You’re worth it Eds. Can’t have every date in the back of my truck on a McDonald’s parking lot late at night now, can we? Maybe if we reach a year of dating we’ll recreate it.”

Eddie almost dropped the fork he’d just picked up. “You think about stuff like that?”

Richie nodded, twirling his fork into his spaghetti. “I think about a lot of things, Eds. That’s just one of them.”

“I swear I learn something new about you every day, Rich.”

“No, you’re just remembering every old thing about me but you don’t realise it. I need to meet Kimberly just so I can hug her for all this hard work. Might be a change from someone yelling at her.” Richie winked.

Eddie felt his cheeks heating up. He’d told Richie about his encounter with Kimberly when he’d been with Mike. He told him about the things she’d said. The way she’d stressed the importance of everything she was doing. Richie had accepted it better than he had but Eddie had chalked that up to the fact that Richie slept less than the rest of them did.

Richie sipped at his water, placing the glass back down onto the table with a soft thump. “So, how about now?”

Eddie had zeroed back in on Richie. They’d been on exactly ten dates, eleven counting their current one, and Richie always asked the same question on whether or not they were actually dating yet. Eddie would shake his head, say ‘not yet’ and Richie would, smile, and respond with ‘next time’ before waiting until Eddie was in his dorm and retiring to his own.

The was the first time that Eddie hadn’t answered right away and Richie paid close attention to that.

Eddie furrowed his brow. Why _weren’t_ they dating? Richie was nice enough, patient, and never pushed him. He took him out on dates and asked how his day was. He carried his bag to class and back, and sometimes even met him after his classes providing he wasn’t on the way to one.

So why was he being so stubborn?

Eddie opened his mouth to finally giving the waiting Richie an answer when a sharp pain shot through his head; forcing him to clamp a hand over the area with a hiss.

“Eds?” There was nothing but pure concern in Richie’s voice, and when Eddie didn’t answer he was on his feet and circling the table quickly until he was in front of him.

_If anything about the train yards scared Eddie, it was the tramps and hobos; men with unshaven cheeks, cracked skin, blisters on their hands, and coldsores on their lips. They would ride the rails for a while and then climb down and spend some time in Derry before getting on another train and heading somewhere else._

_They were harmless enough though. They were usually drunk and just trying to get a cigarette out of someone. But Eddie remembered that one of them crawled out from under the porch of 29 Neibolt Street one day and had offered to give him a blowjob for a quarter._

_Eddie backed away, mouth dry and blood running cold. One of the hobo’s nostrils had been eaten away and he could see right into the red scabby hole. “I don’t have a quarter.”_

_“I’ll do it for a dime.” The hobo croaked, heading towards him. He was dressed in old green flannel pants and yellow puke was drying against his lap. The hobo moved his hands towards Eddie; his pants specifically._

_“I… I don’t have a dime, either!” Eddie said, backing up a little more. The hobo had leprosy, and a voice screamed in the back of his head that if this man touched him he’d catch it too._

_Eddie ran. He could hear the hobo breaking into a run behind him, shoes slapping and flapping across the lawn of the house. “Come back here kid, I’ll do it for free!”_

_Eddie had already rounded the house into the backyard, heading for the fence. His fingers met the metal and he searched for the opening he knew was there and would act as a shortcut from him._

_“Where you goin’ Eds? If you lived here you’d be home by now.”_

_Eddie stiffened at the voice and slowly turned. The hobo was gone now, and in his place standing near the book door of the Neibolt house was a clown holding a bunch of red balloons._

_“Eds...”_

“Eds!”

Eddie snapped back into reality, breathing heavy. Richie was crouched in front of him, hands pressed to Eddies legs, one of which had his inhaler tucked under it, the plastic device digging into his leg.

“Ruh-Richie...”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Richie soothed, moving his hand from Eddies leg.

Richie brought the inhaler to his own mouth, using his teeth to remove the cap before shaking it and holding it to Eddie. Eddie automatically opened his mouth, allowing Richie to slip the inhaler between his lips, one shaky hand coming to rest on top of Richie’s and push the cylinder down as he took in a deep breath.

“That’s it, breathe.”

Eddie was aware that people were watching them and talking quietly to themselves, and when a waitress had come over to check on them Richie had given her the most charming smile Eddie had ever seen while assuring her that they were fine.

_“I saw a lepper and he - he tried - tried to -”_

“You wanna leave?” Richie asked the moment his attention was back on Eddie.

Eddie nodded and Richie stood, holding out his hand to him. Eddie accepted the hand, focusing on the warm fluttery feeling that was suddenly making itself present in his stomach. Richie paid for their food and tugged Eddie from the restaurant, grasping his hand tightly.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie mumbled as they stepped out into the cold November night. “I ruined the date.”

_“Hey, it’s okay. You’re -”_

“You’re okay Eds. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Eddie was silent on the drive back to campus, but he refused to release Richie’s hand which resulted in a joint effort to move the gear stick when it was needed; not that Richie seemed to mind in the slightest. Whenever he was about to switch gears he would squeeze Eddie’s hand and then tighten his hold and either push or pull the stick.

The silence of the car gave Eddie more time to think. To try and work out just what the hell was stopping him from dating Richie. Even Stan and Mike had asked him about it. They acted like a couple but weren’t dating and their friends just couldn’t figure out why.

It wasn’t until they were standing outside of the dorm he shared with Mike that Eddie spoke again. “Richie I -”

Richie raised a hand into the air to cut him off. “I told you. You didn’t ruin it.”

“No it’s not that.”

Richie raised a brow, the confusion clear on his face. If he wasn’t apologising for ‘ruining’ their date again then… “What?”

“Yes. Now.”

It took a moment for Eddie’s words to register and then Richie was laughing. “Holy shit. I forgot I asked that. I was more bothered about your panic attack. Shit. You sure?”

“You ask me the same question every date for a month and when I finally say ‘yes’ you ask if I’m sure?” Eddie asked; a frustrated edge to his tone. “Listen Richie, I thought about it, and there’s no real downside other than your big mouth so yes. We’re dating now. So get down here and kiss me before I change my mind.”

Richie obliged, and the moment their lips touched, the memory of the quarry kiss after they’d been arguing struck them. Eddie’s hand reached up for the front of Richie’s shirt, fingers sinking into the material as he grabbed it.

_Richie heaved a sigh, fingers idly playing with the hem of Eddie’s shirt. “I hate that you’re leaving.”_

_“I hate it too.”_

_“I love you, you know. I have for a while.”_

_“I love you too, and when we can, we’re gonna be together again even if we have to wait until college. Just you and me.”_

_“You got it Eds.”_


	18. Bill

The Neibolt House was just as empty and abandoned as it had been when they were thirteen and still living in Derry; back before they had all moved and forgotten the existence of each other, and standing in front of the Neibolt House alone brought back the feelings of fear and uneasiness they’d had as children.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.” Stan said from his place at the back of the group, standing directly beside Mike.

“There’s nothing here now, Stan.” Richie said, though he couldn’t keep the slight edge of fear from his voice. “It’s just an empty house that should be ripped down.”

“It’s not what’s in the house that bothers me so much as what it’ll make me remember.”

_ “I can’t go into that house, Mike.” _

Mike reached out, curling his hand against Stan’s shoulder comfortingly. “It’s okay Stan. We’re here with you. All four of us.”

Bill stared at the partially boarded up door of the Neibolt House, swallowing thickly. They’d done this before as kids. They could do it now. All they had to do was walk through the gate and up the pathway then into the house.

_ “For me, going into this house is easier than going into my own.” _

“Screw this, I’m going in.” Eddie said, stepping around Bill and heading up the pathway which had become overrun with weeds.

He stopped short of the porch, staring at the broken slats under the steps.

_ “I’ll do it for a dime.” The hobo croaked, heading towards him. He was dressed in old green flannel pants and yellow puke was drying against his lap. The hobo moved his hands towards Eddie; his pants specifically. _

“Eddie?”

Eddie took a step back from the steps, his back bumping into Richie’s chest. He hadn’t even been aware of the others following him until now. Richie’s hands were now clamped on his shoulders; warm and comforting.

“Hey, are you okay?”

_ “Where you goin’ Eds? If you lived here you’d be home by now.” _

“I’m fine.”

Richie’s fingers tapped lightly against his shoulders, and the hum that he released suggested he didn’t believe what Eddie had said but he wasn’t about to push it. Bill stepped around them, his feet thudding against the wooden steps as he ascended the porch; Eddie and Richie quickly following him.

Bill stepped into the house, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he crossed the hallway.

_ “Don’t breathe through your mouth.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because then you’re eating it.” _

They’d barely made it halfway across the hallway when Richie veered off from them towards the living room. He could have sworn he’d seen someone dip into the room and hide behind the armchair in the corner, but a quick look of the room showed it to be empty. 

Or almost empty, at least.

There was a sheet of paper pinned to the fireplace, and Richie approached it warily. He vaguely remembered the last time he’d been in this room. He’d found a missing poster with  _ his _ name and picture on it.

It was definitely a missing poster that was pinned to the fireplace, but it wasn’t  _ his _ like before. This one displayed a six year old boy who was smiling brightly.

**Derry Police Department. Missing. Georgie Denbrough. Six years old. Last seen wearing a yellow raincoat.**

Richie gripped at the missing poster in his hand, staring intently at the image.  _ That’s right. Georgie went missing. Georgie was  _ **_taken,_ ** _ and that’s why we came here. _ Richie opened his mouth to call out for Bill when the image on the poster moved.

_ Georgie  _ **_winked_ ** _ at him. _

“Bill!”

The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway and Bill was suddenly at his side. Richie wordlessly held the poster to him and Bill took it, staring at the image of his long dead brother on the page. He turned it over slowly, eyes settling onto the back where there was a badly drawn picture of Richie, though it pretty much mirrored the front but with Richie’s information.

_ “That’s my name! That’s face!” _

_ “It’s not real Richie!” _

Bill balled up the poster and tossed it into the fireplace before Richie could see the image that had been drawn onto the back; the two of them returning to the rest of the group who were converged in the hallway.

“Do we go up or down?” Eddie asked, eyeing the nearby staircase warily, and Bill elbowed Richie in the stomach before he could say whatever he’d opened his mouth for. “I don’t remember where we went.”

“W-we’ll g-go up. Suh-Stan and Muh-Mike can go duh-down. I feel like that’s...”

“The way it’s supposed to be.” Mike finished, offering Bill a smile. “Okay, we’ll do it that way. Shout if there’s a problem and we’ll come find you.”

They split up into their two groups; Bill, Richie, and Eddie climbing the stairs slowly, the sound of creaking and splintering wood echoing around them. As they reached the top of the stairs, Bill and Richie went to the left, but Eddie veered off to the right. 

It wasn’t until he was in one of the musty old bedrooms that Eddie remembered it. He remembered being in this room. He remembered the door closing. He remembered calling out for Richie. Eddie turned sharply and left the room, hurrying down the hallway to where he knew Bill and Richie would have gone.

Bill and Richie stood in what they assumed would have once been a master bedroom, staring at the dirty mattress on the ground.

_ “Wanna play loogie?” _

Richie shook his head to rid himself of the image of the decayed Eddie, veering off from Bill into the adjoining room. It was mostly dark, and there were numerous clown statues littered around.

_ “Beep, beep Richie.” _

“I fucking hate this place.” Richie grumbled to himself, turning and leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered it.

Bill was exactly where Richie had left him, standing in the middle of bedroom, except now he was staring at the closet door, his brow furrowed. Richie followed his line of vision, and for a moment he could have sworn there were three doors all marked with different things in blood.

**Not Scary at all.**

**Scary.**

**Very Scary.**

“ _ Where the fuck were her legs? _ ”

“Where’s Eddie?”

Bill jerked, turning sharply to Richie. “I don’t know. I thought he was right behind us. Shit.” Bill was suddenly running from the room, Richie close behind him. “Eddie!”

_ “Wow. He didn’t stutter once.” _

Eddie peered around the doorway into the kitchen, unsure of just  _ what  _ had drawn him to here before stepping fully into the room. The table was broken as though someone had fell into it, and Eddie soon realised it was him. He was the who had crashed through the table after falling through the ceiling.

Because of IT.

_ “Tasty, tasty, beautiful fear.” _

“Eds!” Richie had suddenly grabbed him, turning him around to give him a once over. 

_ “I have to snap the arm back into place.” _

_ “Don’t fucking touch me!” _

“Richie! Eddie!” Bill rounded the corner into the kitchen, catching himself on the doorway.

_ “This isn’t real enough for you Billy?  _ **_I’m_ ** _ not real enough? It was real enough for  _ **_Georgie_ ** _.” _

“Luh-let’s find Stan and Mike.” Bill said, already backing out of the kitchen.

Stan and Mike were in the basement where they were supposed to be, Mike shining his flashlight down into the dark tunnel. This was where Henry had died. He remembered that. He’d shoved Henry and Henry had toppled over the edge of the well.

It was a moment of kill or be killed, and Henry would have killed him.

“Are we supposed to go down there?” Stan asked, leaning over the edge of the well. 

“It feels like we should.” Richie peered over the well next, brow furrowed. “It feels like something is calling us.”

Eddie leaned over the edge of the well, using his hands to support himself. “It’s her. Kimberly is down there. She wants us to go down there too.”

“Huh- how?” Bill asked.

Richie reached out, grabbing the rope that was tied to the bar above the well. “Here. We’ll use this.”

Bill nodded and grabbed the rope from Richie, climbing up onto the edge of the well where Mike tied it around his waist securely and handed him the flashlight. They lowered him in carefully, Bill keeping one hand curled around the rope while the other held the flashlight which he moved around the walls, looking for something though he wasn’t sure  _ what _ .

He was halfway down when he saw an array of drawn pictures pinned the walls; scattered around a large hole in the wall. There was one in particular that caught his attention right next to the hole, and Bill called out for them to stop before he reached out to grab it; peeling it away from the stone.

It was a drawing of a boy falling down the very well they were in while Mike looked down from above.

_ “I gave you a pass this year because of your brother, but the free ride is over Denbrough.” _

Henry, Bill remembered. The boy who had tormented them for years. Bill looked around at the other drawings, and pieces of his foggy childhood began to click into place. Georgie was murdered by a clown. This house led to where the clown lived. The clown had tormented them in this house. 

And the well…

The well led right to ITs lair.

Bill swung forward into the hole, finding his footing before he steadied himself, untied the rope and tossed it back out into the well, calling out for the others. One by one, they were lowered, Stan first, then Eddie, then Richie, and finally Mike lowered himself carefully down until they were all cramped into the tunnel.

“I think Eddie is right.” Mike said, looking around at the drawings pinned to the tunnel all around them. “Kimberly is down here.”

They moved quickly and carefully through the tunnel, Bill jumping into the sewer just beyond, the water splashing around his feet.

_ “Daddy?” _

_ “I hate to break it to you, but that ain’t your daddy. There ain’t nothing there.” Richie said, moments before a paw slowly clamped onto his shoulder. “I said - there  _ **_ain’t_ ** _ nothing there.” _

Rushing through the sewer, Bill kept his attention and the flashlight pinned ahead. It was like he could  _ feel  _ Kimberly pulling him towards wherever she was, and by the sounds of the four running footsteps behind him that sloshed around in the water, the others felt it too.

_ “You made me go into that house.” _

“There!” Eddie ran by Bill, straight through a metal pipe, and into the large area beyond.

Bill followed, his feet clanging against the metal until he jumped out on the other side. The area which had once been occupied with a mountain of junk looked just as eerie as he was starting to recall, and though the junk was still there piled high towards a sewer drain, there was a difference.

Dirty white sheets of paper now littered the room, each one with a different badly drawn image on it, and there, in the centre of all the drawings with sketchbooks littered around them, sat Kimberly who was hunched over an open sketchbook, scribbling away.

Eddie was the one to take a step forward, navigating his way through the sheets of paper. It looked just like the dream he’d had when he’d first encountered her, only this time he wasn’t alone.

“Kimberly?”

Kimberly’s hand stopped moving and her head snapped up to look at him. She was a lot paler than Eddie remembered her being, with orange hair now framing her face and mismatched blue and gold eyes. Eddie took a sudden step back as her appearance sank in. She looked more like the clown than she did herself.

“You came.” Kimberly said, slowly standing up and brushing herself down. “I thought you never would.”

“What happened to you? When I saw you at the college last month-”

“It’s trying to get out, and I can only hold it in for so long. I’m sorry. It looks I failed.”

“Buh-buh you didn’t. Wuh-we’re here.” Bill said, hopping over some of the drawings to join Eddie. “You brought us here.”

“Yes, but not all of you. There are two missing, and it doesn’t matter how much you remember, because if you’re not whole… if they don’t remember too… it  _ will _ come back and take its rest and I won’t be able to stop it.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.” Bill said; voice firm, and no one missed the lack of stutter. “Tell us what to do, Kimberly. Let us help you.”

Kimberly bent to pick up two sketchbooks, holding them out. “These have to go to the right people. They have to see them, and their contents. The more awake  _ it _ is, the less power I have. I can’t keep restoring their memories anymore because I’m getting weaker but I drew them all in these books. You… can take yours too. This town and these books have all your memories.”

Bill looked down at the name on the first sketchbook. 

**Ben Hanscom.** His roommate.

“That’s Heather’s roommate.” Richie said, taking the second sketchbook from Kimberly which read  **Beverly Marsh** on the cover.

Kimberly gathered the other books in her arms and handed them out to their rightful owners. “I’m sorry. I tried. I really did.”

“We know, and we appreciate everything you’ve done. You brought us all back together like we were supposed to be.” Mike said, clutching his sketchbook to his chest. “We’ll take it from here Kimberly. We’ll… we’ll get those books to their owners, get them to remember, and let you rest, for good.”

Kimberly closed the sketchbook that she’d been drawing in, slowly holding it out to Stan. “I’m sorry. You worked so hard to forget everything, to forget the deadlights. I didn’t want this. You all deserved to forget about the clown and what it did.”

Stan carefully took the sketchbook from Kimberly, staring down at his own name printed onto the cover. “Then why-”

“Because you need those memories as much as you don’t. Those events are what tie you together. All seven of you.”


	19. Richie

Being back in Derry was a weird experience. Everywhere they went, the shadows of the past seemed to creep out and remind them of everything they’d been through while they’d still lived here from growing up being tortured by Henry Bowers to the clown that had spent a year torturing them. 

And standing outside his old childhood home, fingers thread through Eddie’s, Richie found that it was no different here.

“This is so weird.” Richie said, brow knitting as he stared up at the boarded up house. “I thought that someone would have been living here.”

Eddie gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “It makes this easier, right? I feel like Kimberly is the cause of this… like she is with everything.”

“Yeah.” Richie agreed, tightening his hold on Eddie’s had as he stepped forward, sneakers thumping against the driveway.

The house didn’t feel or smell as though it had been abandoned for very long, but it certainly  _ looked  _ like it had. There was a thick layer of dust on the kitchen counter that Richie had landed on when he’d climbed through the window; mirrored by every surface around them. He quickly tugged the sleeve of his hoodie down over his hand, covering Eddie’s mouth and nose carefully as he helped him to climb through the window.

Eddie shot him a grateful look once he was inside the kitchen next to Richie, tugging his sleeve down quickly and replacing Richie’s hand with his own. There was a table in the middle of the room, one of its four chairs toppled over onto its back, and Richie could envision his mother perfectly; standing at the stove and humming along happily with the radio while she cooked breakfast, while his father sat at the table reading the newspaper before work.

Because no matter where they lived it was always the same morning routine.

_ “Gee, Rich,” Wentworth Tozier cleared his throat as Richie climbed back into his chair after another one of his dramatic acts, “I guess I must have forgotten to pay you your allowance on Monday. That’s the only reason I can think of for you needing more money for the movies Friday.” _

_ Richie stared at his father, magnified eyes moving in a faux innocent blink. “Welllll...” _

_ “It’s gone, isn’t it?” _

_ Richie grinned nervously. “Well...” _

_ “That’s an extremely deep response for a boy with such a shallow mind.” Wentworth continued, placing his elbow onto the table and cupping his chin in the palm of his hand, regarding Richie with deep fascination from behind his own glasses. “Where’d it go?” _

If things weren’t still so tense in his mind from being in the Neibolt House the day before Richie didn’t doubt for a second that he would be laughing at the memory. Covering his nose and mouth, he stepped forward and climbed awkwardly over the fallen chair, coming to a stop on the other side of the small kitchen.

_ Wentworth leaned forward towards him, smiling widely. “I think I have you right where I want you.” _

_ “Is that right, Dad?” Richie asked, smiling back somewhat uneasily. _

_ “Oh yes. You know our lawn, Richie? You are familiar with our lawn?” _

_ “Indeed I am guv’nor.” Richie said, the uneasy smile still on his face. “Bit shaggy, ay-wot?” _

_ “Wot-wot.” Wentworth agreed. “And you, Richie, will remedy that condition.” _

_ “I will?” _

_ “You will. Mow it, Richie.” _

_ “Okay, Dad, sure.” Richie agreed, though he suspected that his dad didn’t mean  _ **_just_ ** _ the front lawn. _

_ “All of it, O idiot child of my loins. Front. Back. Sides. And when you finish-” _

“Richie?”

Richie’s head snapped to Eddie who standing by the refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen. “Something wrong?”

“No I just…” Eddie heaved a sigh, circling the table until he was standing in front of Richie, taking his hand in his free one. “You’re zoning out more than usual. I was worried.”

Richie squeezed at Eddie’s hand, pulling him from the kitchen into the hallway. The floorboards creaked under their feet as they passed the living room, Richie lowering his hand from his face to grab at the railing of the stairs, taking them at a jog while dragging Eddie along.

The room that had once served as Richie’s childhood bedroom was now empty aside from leaves that had blown in through the broken window which crunched under their feet as they entered and a long abandoned dusty sleeping bag in the corner that signalled someone had been using it as a residence at  _ some  _ point.

_ Eddie was still awake when Richie returned to the room, though he looked mentally and physically exhausted from breaking down about coming out to his mother and her instantly throwing him out. He was, at least, now lying on his back looking  _ **_slightly_ ** _ relaxed in some borrowed clothes Richie had given him to sleep in which dwarfed his smaller frame completely. _

_ “I look like a child wearing their parents clothes.” Eddie huffed when he caught sight of Richie, crossing his arms over his chest. _

_ “You look cute Eds!” Richie assured him, dropping next to him on the bed. “How are you feeling?” _

_ “A little better. I just… she’s my  _ **_mom_ ** _ Richie. She’s not supposed to - I can’t -  _ **_this isn’t what a parent should do._ ** _ ” _

_ Richie sighed, reaching out and clasping Eddie’s hand with his own. “It’s okay. I’m here for you. I’ll be right here until you fall asleep.” _

_ “No!” The sudden shout from Eddie made Richie flinch; releasing his hand instantly. “No I mean - damn it. I mean… don’t leave me. Not tonight.” _

_ Richie exhaled slowly. “Eds I was only gonna move to the floor. But if you want me to stay here I will.” _

_ Eddie nodded, rolling onto his side to face Richie. “I do.” _

_ “Then I’ll stay.” _

“I spent a month here.” Eddie said, his voice echoing in the empty room. “I spent a month there and you snuck into my house to get me some clothes when my mom was out. My mom was convinced you made me stay away from her. She claimed that she never kicked me out.”

Richie nodded, his eyes zeroing in on the broken window. “And then she dragged you home.”

“And moved me away.”

Richie visibly cringed at that, turning to face Eddie and pulling him closer. “But,” he reached up to the hand covering Eddie’s nose and mouth, pulling it away and threading their fingers together, “I got you back.”

“You did.” Eddie tilted his head up to stare at Richie, mouth pulling into a smile. “And I’m not gonna let anyone take me away from you again.”

Richie opened his mouth to respond when a buzzing filled the room. “God damn it.” He grumbled, reaching for his pocket to extract his phone. “It’s Stan.”

“Answer it.” Eddie said, glancing to the phone to see Stan’s name flashing across the screen. “He’s the most shook up about being back in here. You’re his best friend. He might need you.”

“Right.” Richie pressed his thumb down on the answer button and raised the phone to his ear. “What’s up Staniel? What? Yeah we’ll be there in a minute where are you? Right.” Richie hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket. “We gotta go Eds, Bill’s having some kind of a meltdown.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, already knowing what could and would be affecting Bill so badly. “I hate this town.”

“Me too Eds. The only good thing that came out of it was you guys.”

_ But the best thing that came out of it was you. It will always be you. _

It took two hours of sitting in the Barrens to calm Bill down enough to figure out what was affecting him. Even with his panic attack subsided, all Bill could do was point at the large nearby sewer pipe that spilled out into Barrens. The same place where they’d met Ben and…

_ “I don’t want to end up like Geog - missing. I don’t want to end up missing too.” _

_ “It’s Betty's shoe.” _

“Coming back here was a bad idea.” Mike said, climbing to his feet and sharing a concerned glance with Stan. “At least for you guys. I didn’t remember any of this until college started.”

“How?” Eddie asked, his attention slowly shifting from Bill, who still had Eddie’s inhaler clasped in one hand, to Mike who was looking off at the sewer pipe. “How did you manage to stay behind and not remember anything?”

“You stop believing.” Richie muttered, kicking at a stone on the ground. “When you’re a kid you believe in all kinds of shit. But when you’re an adult… they seem stupid. The clown and what it could do seemed stupid as we started to grow up so… we forgot about it.”

“It’s not just that. We also didn’t  _ want  _ to believe it. Look how hard we tried to forget not even a week after what happened in the sewer. We didn’t want to believe it had happened, and no one believed us anyway so we shoved it down. I mean… if you weren’t us… if you hadn’t been through it… would you believe it happened if someone told you?”

Stan crouched next to Bill, gripping his arm gently. “No. And that’s why… they moved you away wasn’t it? You tried to tell them what had happened that day… what had been happening for a year. They didn’t believe you about Georgie so they moved you away.”

“They thought  _ we  _ were the problem.” Mike inhaled sharply. “Your move was to ‘fix’ you wasn’t it?”

Bill nodded, his grip tightening on the inhaler. “They said the move would be good for us - for me. It was good for  _ them _ . They don’t even remember Georgie and I almost forgot about him too. All his stuff is gone. His clothes, his toys… his pictures. They forgot about him.”

Stan reached into his back pocket and removed a badly folded piece of paper which he unfolded; staring down at the missing poster they’d found near Bill’s old house. 

_ Patrick Hockstetter.  _

“I think it’s more than wanting to forget.” Stan admitted, staring at Patrick’s black and white picture. “We forgot each other too. I think…  _ IT  _ had something to do with that.”

Eddie nodded, swallowing thickly as he looked down at the poster. “It did… because that’s how It works.”


End file.
